Search for a Young Boy
by darkorangecat
Summary: Time is ticking as the team searches for a missing boy who is witness to a violent crime. Reid-centered. Some disturbing content.
1. The Search Begins

**Disclaimer**: I do not claim ownership or rights to "Criminal Minds" or any of its characters. The original characters are mine and have not been taken from anywhere else. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities between original characters and real-life people are not intentional. Quotes for this story have been found through and .

**A/N: **Rubin County, Alabama is a fictional setting and any similarities between the fictional creation and a real county is unintentional. Also, the crime mentioned is a pure work of fiction and is not intended to emulate crime, nor recreate any actual crime; any similarities to a real crime are unintentional.

**Warning**: This work of fiction will contain swearing as well graphic descriptions of violence. Please heed warnings posted for each chapter.

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The Search Begins

"The beginning is half of every action." – Greek Proverb

* * *

He stood stock-still, facing the wooden house. The white paint peeled in the hot sun; clearly the place had seen better days. The front porch sagged under his slender frame; wood had rotted through in many places.

Gun secured in his belt, he tentatively knocked on the front door that stood crooked in its wilting frame, glancing deftly to the left, making eye contact briefly with a member of his team. Receiving a slight nod, he knocked a bit harder.

"FBI, open up!" He struggled to make his voice sound confident and firm; to his own ears it sounded weak and ineffectual. _Damn it,_ he thought, _what's it gonna take for me to come across as strong?_ _How is anyone gonna take me seriously if I can't even speak my purpose with authority? How's that saying go? 'Fake it till you make it'? Yeah, right, easier said than done, _he thought as he tapped on the door again, a little louder allowing for some of his self-reproach to coat his voice in projected anger, tingeing it with a bit more force, "FBI, open up!"

Hand on the loose door knob; he pulled his gun at the same time as he prepared to open the door.

Instead, he landed firmly on his butt, the hand that had reached for the knob now held to the small of his back, rubbing at the sharp pain that blossomed up his spine. The door had flown open inward and he had lost his balance. The team member to his left ran forward, gun drawn and pointed at the figure that had emerged in the opened door.

Cheeks smarting red with embarrassment, he looked up through the fringe of his brown hair and caught a glimpse of beautiful hazel eyes framed in a creamy peach colored face. Swallowing hard, Reid placed his free hand firmly on the rotting wood of the porch, keeping his other hand firmly in front of him, the gun pointed at the blond beauty before him.

"FBI," he stated from his awkward position, "we have a warrant to search the premises."

The young woman smirked at him, planting one hand on her shapely hips, enabling Reid to see her ample bosom. The white lace blouse barely concealed her breasts and the tight buckskin pants and light tan moccasins managed to look graceful on her.

"Here, let me help you up sweetie," she proffered a hand. Reid secured his gun, ascertaining that, at least for the moment, she posed no threat to him; he could see no weapon on her and Morgan had his gun trained on her at the moment. Taking her hand, he let her pull him up, surprised that her hands were rough and calloused.

_Stupid, _Reid berated himself as he caught a glimpse of Hotch just off to the right of the porch, gun also trained on the woman. G_reat_ _just great_, he was sure to be in for a lecture now. He had just been lectured not even three weeks ago about taking foolish chances and now he had fallen on his butt only to be helped out by someone who could be dangerous. _Good going doctor_, he muttered to himself shaking his head slightly.

Reid's face turned a brighter hue of red as he caught himself staring, not at the woman's face, but directly at her creamy breasts which were in his direct line of sight. His eyes traveled down toward the wooden porch in embarrassment, taking in the silvery tone of the splintering wood and the rusty nails that graced it. _This'll really give everyone something to talk about now_, he chastised himself.

"Well, ya'll gonna come in or not?" The woman threw out behind her as she turned into the house with a gesture for them to follow her. Reid stood rooted to the spot, waiting for Hodge and Morgan to join him before entering the dilapidated home.

They were looking for a missing kid linked to a double homicide. The kid had presumably been present while his mother and older brother were killed. He had disappeared shortly after he'd been discovered hiding beneath the kitchen sink. The murder had taken place in the kitchen. The police officer in charge of watching him had turned around to answer a question and the seven –year-old boy had disappeared out the back door, leaving a trail of bloody sneaker prints on the linoleum in his wake. Either he had hidden again or taken off like the wind because they had been unable to find the kid anywhere on the property surrounding the house.

The kid, the authorities had surmised, couldn't have gotten too far, and they began a search of nearby homes. Even so, they hadn't found him yet and a day had already passed. The BAU had been called in that day to consult on the double murder as it seemed to be the third such murder in Rubin County, Alabama in the past four months. Reid, Hotch, and Morgan were aiding in the search for the missing kid, Aiken, while JJ handled the press and Rossi managed the teams' search for the boy. Prentiss was working with one of the police teams, searching in the nearby swamps. Garcia was searching for information on Aiken and his family, seeing if he had any other family he might have gone to in his flight.

He may be the only witness to the grisly crime and needed to be found. Reid, however, was more concerned about the young boy's state of mind. He knew that he must be frightened, and perhaps even in shock. He hoped they'd find Aiken soon and get him the help that he was sure to need. He may even need protection should the killer find out about his young witness.

This house was the last one in a three-mile radius of Aiken's home; Reid silently prayed they would find him here. They had been searching since eight in the morning and it was already one. If he wasn't found soon, he might not be found at all.


	2. Hide and Seek

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter. Additionally, I do not own _Pumpkinhead _either.

**Warnings**: This chapter contains details of a gruesome crime as witnessed by a seven-year-old boy.

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Hide-and-Seek

"The power of hiding ourselves from one another is mercifully given, for men are wild beasts, and would devour one another, but for this protection." – Henry Ward Beecher

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The Previous Day: Aiken's Experience

Aiken hid beneath the kitchen sink when the strange man entered his home. His mom had yelled at him to go and hide, and at first, he had been frightened and had been unable to move from his place behind his mom and brother in the front hallway. He had been frozen on the spot when the man had splintered their front door open. They had been expecting Uncle Billy and his children that morning after Daddy left. Instead, in walked the strange man and Momma had yelled at Aiken and Braden to run and hide. His older brother giving him a shove in the shoulder had been the catalyst that got him moving.

Remembering all of the times that he and his brother had played hide-and-seek, Aiken ran into the kitchen. His best hiding place had always been beneath the kitchen sink. It was just the right size for him and it was always the last place that Braden looked. He was sure that it would be a safe place for him to hide. He wondered where his older brother would hide. Braden was almost twelve now, whereas Aiken was only seven. He couldn't hide under the sink with him because he wouldn't fit, but maybe he could hide somewhere upstairs or in the basement.

His heart was pounding so hard that he could hear it in his ears like a steady drum beat, _ba bump, ba bump_. He hoped the beating wouldn't give his hiding spot away, that's how loud it was in his ears. He tried to calm his labored breathing so that it couldn't be heard. He and his brother had practiced this one breathing technique when they were playing soldiers with their cousins or the neighbor boys and were hiding from the _enemy_. He held his breath in for a slow count to five and let it out as quietly as possible while silently counting to three. He had to repeat the breathing pattern about ten times before his breathing began to come under control and his heartbeat slowed down enough for him to hear what was going on outside of his hiding spot. He opened the door to his hiding spot just enough to let a sliver of light in and for him to see out with one eye.

At first he couldn't see or hear anything. He hoped that his brother had found a good hiding spot and that his mom had been able to get away from the scary man. He took another deep breath and leaned back against the pipe to the sink, closing his eyes he let the door shut silently. He listened,

straining his ears to hear anything beyond his own breathing and heartbeat. Still hearing nothing, he relaxed a little, letting some of the tension out of his body. _Everything is going to be alright,_ he told himself, _Braden and mom will come and get me soon and Uncle Billy, Cousin Matt, and Cousin Tony will be here and we'll play soldiers. The man with the strange walk will be gone and it will be like nothing even happened_.

He couldn't understand why his mom had sounded so frightened when the man pushed the door open. He only knew that he had never heard his mom sound so scared before, except for maybe the time when Braden had fallen out of the tree in the front yard and broken his arm last year. She had been so frightened that she had turned whiter than a ghost and was shaking so much that she couldn't even dial '9-1-1'. Aiken had had to dial the number and watched in fear as his mom held his unconscious brother on her lap while she sat in a kitchen chair, playing idly with his messy black hair. His brother had been alright, but he remembered worrying that Braden was dead because of how his mom had reacted. He never wanted to see her that frightened again, but here they were, not even a full year afterwards and his mom had seemed even more terrified than at that time. _Everything just has to be okay_, he thought from his position under the sink.

He was suddenly drawn abruptly back to the present when he heard his mom scream and a sickening crash coming from the direction of the living room, just off the entry hall from the front door. _How long had it been since he had hidden? Maybe a couple of minutes, but it felt like longer than that. How long had the man been in the house with his mother and brother? When were they going to come and tell him it was alright to come out? Maybe he should leave his hiding spot and dial 9-1-1. _He opened the door tentatively, peeking out, preparing to open it fully and slide out to get the phone from the kitchen counter across the room from where he hid. But he stopped his movements suddenly when he heard scattered footsteps headed toward the kitchen. He paused, the door open only an inch. He could see the fridge and the entrance to the right of it. He held his breath as he watched his brother and mother enter the kitchen followed by the man.

"Anyone else here?" The man snarled, grabbing his mom's arm roughly, causing her to gasp in pain.

"Nno," she stuttered, "please let me and my son go. Whatever you need, take it, but please just leave. We won't call the police, I promise," she begged. Aiken could see there were tears running down her cheeks and that she had a bruise on one as he stretched his neck up and to the side, looking out the slight gap that he had made in his failed attempt at going for the phone. He didn't like seeing his mom cry.

"Leave my mom alone!" His brother came in from behind the man and pounded uselessly at the man's arm. The man grabbed Braden by the front of his white t-shirt and threw him against the fridge. His head hit the fridge making a hollow-sounding crack. Aiken saw his brother hit the fridge, and nearly cried out, but bit his tongue hard enough that it drew blood. He watched his brother's body slump boneless to the linoleum floor. From his vantage point, he could see blood pooling beneath his brother's head, and inch its way toward where he hid beneath the sink. For what seemed like forever,all Aiken could see was his brother lying on the floor like a broken toy, blood steadily crawling its way toward him. He feared that the blood was going to call out, _Ready or not here I come!_ And that he would be revealed, but instead of his brother's smiling face, it would be the distorted face of a grisly monster looming above him. Though he hadn't seen the man's face, he imagined that it was like that of _Pumpkinhead_ in the movies he had caught a glimpse of his brother watching one night.

Terrified, he retreated further into the cool blackness of the cabinet, hoping to escape from the thin blood trail. His brother hadn't moved since he had been thrown into the fridge and Aiken's vision wavered so that he was unsure whether he could see Braden's chest moving or not.

His attention was diverted from the crimson river that crept across the sunny yellow linoleum, when he heard his mom whimpering. Her muffled cries drew his attention, and he leaned forward again, allowing his eyes to move to the right of the fridge. The man was telling his mom to shut up and he hit her. Aiken wanted to race out from his place of safety to help his mom, but couldn't make his legs move. So, he sat and watched as the man slapped his mom until she stopped crying about Braden.

When the man bent down toward his mom's face, Aiken could finally see what the monster looked like. He did not look like _Pumpkinhead_ or like any monster that Aiken could imagine. The man looked almost normal, except for the sneer on his face. The man had dark brown hair that was long enough to touch the collar of his torn dirty jean jacket and Aiken thought he could see muddish brown eyes like his best friend Todd had. The man's face had one long scar that reached from the corner of his left eye to the lobe of his ear. It looked ugly and red as the man puffed angrily in his mom's face.

"Why are you doing this?" His mom asked warily.

"Shut up, bitch!" The man's voice sounded like a hammer to Aiken's ears. He turned red with anger from where he hid and clenched his fists, keeping the door slightly ajar with the toe of his tennis shoe. He could see that a spindly red line of his brother's blood had almost reached the kitchen sink. He worried briefly that it would draw the man's attention and that he would be found.

The man grabbed his mom and pushed her toward the kitchen counter, near where Aiken hid. He couldn't see what was happening anymore, just the man's jean clad legs and his mom's own bare legs where her white sundress didn't reach. It seemed to Aiken like the legs were a tangled mess as his mom continued to struggle against the man's hold on her. He could hear his mom choking and gasping and could see her standing up on her tiptoes, they were so close to him now that all it would take for them to discover him, would be for the man to squat down and pry open the door the rest of the way. He worried briefly that the man's leg would catch on the edge of the door where he had it ajar and open it the rest of the way.

His mom managed to get her hands up in front of her and pushed the man away from her. She moved away from the sink and Aiken could no longer see her legs, but he heard the knife drawer open and the _swish_ of a metal blade leaving its sheath. He tried to think of which knife she would have chosen, he knew that he would have gotten the large wooden handled knife he had seen his dad carve the Christmas turkey with and so imagined her holding this knife. He closed his eyes briefly wishing his mother luck. His brother's blood was now smudged with the battle that had gone on between his mother and her attacker.

There was a moment of near silence when all Aiken could hear was labored breathing, but it was soon cut off by a panicked cry and a solid thump. Aiken opened his eyes again and what he saw burned an image in his mind forever. His mother lay on the kitchen floor directly in front of his hideaway. Her head was titled toward him, her mouth slightly open, a wooden handled knife sticking from her chest, blood bubbled from the wound as she continued to struggle to breathe. Her blue eyes looked glassy and tired, Aiken's eyes locked onto his mother's through the sliver of his opening. He caught a brief look of recognition before his mom looked away, not wanting to give her baby boy's position away. He watched the jean clad legs walk toward him straddling his mother's prone form, his breath caught in his throat, and tears ran silently down his face. But the man did not reach down and open the door; instead he turned on the water and started washing his hands. He cleaned his hands, reached down to clean the handle of the knife, and then took his shoes off, being careful not to step in the blood from his mother that had started mixing with Braden's. The man carefully walked across the kitchen and Aiken could hear him walk sock-footed through the hallway and back out the door he had entered barely an hour ago.

Aiken found that he could not stop the tears from flowing down his face and he could not push himself to move from his cramped position below the sink. He stayed huddled and soon closed his eyes, the tears stopping and drying in streaks on his face. He continued listening to his mother's ragged breathing until he could hear it no more, then his own breathing took precedence.

His ears did not register the knock on the door, nor his uncle's frantic call from the hallway. He didn't even move when his hiding spot had finally been discovered and a police officer entreated him to come out telling him that it was safe. He felt numb and stared blankly at the officer, seeing not his kind face, but that of the monster who had hurt his mother and brother. Panicking, he stiffly moved from the dark hiding place when the man's attention had been diverted and ran from the house, leaving bloody footprints in his wake, not looking back and not taking note of where he was going.


	3. Nooks and Crannies

**Disclaimer**: See first chapter.

Nooks and Crannies

"Research is the process of going up alleys to see if they are blind." – Martson Bates

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Unsure what to make of the brazen woman whom he had inadvertently ogled, Reid, adjusted the gun he had replaced in his holster only moments ago. As Morgan and Hotch approached the open door, he sighed dejectedly; sure that Hotch would reprimand him for his unprofessional behavior. He groaned inwardly, _if only I wasn't such a klutz. Maybe they didn't see everything_, he thought hopefully.

"Well, ya'll gonna come in or let all the flies in Rubin County in?" The woman turned a questioning glare in their direction.

"Ma'am," Morgan smiled as he holstered his weapon, "we're searching for a seven-year-old boy who may've witnessed a crime near here." He ambled easily toward the open door, ahead of Reid who stood a little rooted to the spot, _smooth, _he thought; _let Morgan swoop in to save the day._

Hotch holstered his weapon, stepping around Reid to enter the home. Reid, shaken out of his momentary stupor, followed with his head down. The inside of the house had not fared much better than the outside Reid noticed. It too was ramshackle and run-down. Reid wondered briefly why such a beauty would continue to live in such squalor.

"I know it ain't much, but would ya mind shuttin' the door?" She threw back as she made her way into what Reid supposed was the living room. He quickly turned around to push the decaying door shut. It took a bit of effort and he felt a sliver cut into the palm of his hand. Wincing slightly, he sucked at his hand.

"Here, let me get a needle for that, name's Savannah Leigh, but ya'll can call me Savannah," she held out a hand for Reid, pulling him into the living room and depositing him on the raggedy sofa. Morgan chuckled softly and shook his head, Hotch just stood there taking in what he could see of the house, a slight frown on his face. Reid sat, a look of chagrin, on the lumpy tweed sofa, his legs dangling in front of him. _Can this get any worse? _He thought embarrassedly as he ran a hand through his hair.

Savannah came back with a sewing needle, a wet washcloth, and some hydrogen peroxide. Kneeling next to Reid, she pulled his hand into hers, dipped the needle into the flame of a candle sitting on a coffee table next to the couch, and began working at the sliver in his hand. Hotch cleared his throat.

Looking up briefly from her work, Savannah Leigh looked in his direction, "Now, what was that you were sayin' about a missing boy?"

"Yes, his name is Aiken Randall and he has been missing for over a day and a half. Have you seen a kid near the area?"

"Aiken Randall? As in Aiken, Braden, and Molly Randall?" Savannah momentarily stopped working at the sliver in Reid's hand to look fully at Hotch.

"Um, yes," Hotch looked down at the picture he held of the young boy, "he is about 4 feet tall, has a slight build, wears glasses, has dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and a freckled face."

"I know what he looks like; they come over all the time. What did you say happened to him? Where's Molly? Braden? Steve?" Savannah's eyebrows furrowed in concern as she continued to cling to Reid's hand, the needle stuck at an odd angle in his flesh.

Hotch looked up from the picture, compassion in his eyes, his voice softened as he spoke, "I'm sorry Ma'am, Braden and Molly were murdered and it appears as though Aiken witnessed the murders. He got away from police custody and we have been searching for him. Steve is at home, in case Aiken returns. Do you know of anywhere he may have gone?"

"Take a look around the house, he could be hiding here. I've been gone a couple days, I'll help look when I'm done with this," Savannah returned to work the sliver out of Reid's hand. Morgan exited the living room and started up the rickety stairs. Hotch took a left toward one of the bedrooms, looking under the bed, in the closet, and behind the curtains. She worked feverishly at the sliver, finally sliding it out of his hand and pouring hydrogen peroxide over the wound, stopping the flow with the washcloth.

"That should be better. I'll go get you a band aid," Savannah smiled softly as she stood and went into the bathroom to retrieve one. Coming back with a 'Superman' bandage, she placed it over the cut, "Sorry, Braden, Aiken, and their cousins came over all the time, I made sure to be stocked up on band aids that they'd like."

"So, did you babysit them?" Reid asked softly, wondering what connection this woman had with the family.

"Not exactly, they liked to come over and play. When my grandpa was still alive, he'd play soldier with them," Savannah laughed, but caught herself as she thought of what little Aiken, whom she had just gotten to know over the past year, had gone through, "I've been working at getting this place into running order, but it has been a slow process and the boys have come over to help nearly every day this summer, their Mama, Molly has had me over to dinner weekly, knowing my kitchen ain't quite in running order."

"Oh," Reid felt at a loss for words as he stared down at the 'Superman' band aid. _What could he say that would be a comfort to this woman?_

"I guess we could aid in the search, there are about a zillion places one could hide in on this property," Savannah tugged Reid to his feet, and to his credit, he didn't stumble as he stood. He followed her out of the living room and into what he could only assume had at one point in time been a functioning den, but now looked like more of a cluttered room in which a tornado had swept through. Nevertheless, they searched the room, not turning up Aiken; they walked into the laundry room.

Here, Reid could tell, some progress had been made. It was immaculate and orderly, unlike the rest of what he had seen. Looking into the washer and dryer, the baskets, in between the appliances and every conceivable hiding spot did not reveal the quarry of their search. A bit discouraged, they left the laundry room and stumbled into the pantry. Savannah reached for the overhead light, Reid clinging lightly to her arm so as not to lose his footing. _Thank goodness the guys aren't around for this_, he quickly shook himself as he let go of her, eyes trained firmly on the ground, not wanting to make the same mistake he had made earlier.

"Sorry about that," he apologized, his face turning crimson.

"No worries," Savannah smiled, pulling his face up toward her so that he wasn't looking at the floor, "I doubt if he would be hiding down there," she admonished as her eyes swept the pantry for any sign of Aiken. Not finding the boy, she shut off the light and they left the pantry, Reid noting that she smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla.

Knowing that Hotch and Morgan had both gone upstairs to search, Reid and Savannah continued onto the cellar. The stairs creaked beneath their weight as they walked down into the murky darkness that was lit by a single bulb. It was dank and musty smelling, causing Reid to sneeze and bump into Savannah who led the way.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he regained his footing. They continued their way down the stairs and when they finally reached the bottom, Reid let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He had never really liked walking into dark places, and this one was just way too creepy. He doubted that a frightened boy would hide here, but even so, they had to look.

"This isn't a place I have ventured into much," Savannah said apologetically, "It has been last on my list of things to do since I found out that I inherited this place from my grandfather. We were never all that close, but I was his only living relative, so he left it all to me." Turning, she bumped into Reid and accidentally hit him in the chest with her arm as she swept it around. Having caught a spider web in the process, she inadvertently smeared it in the young agent's hair and proceeded to try to wipe it out, much to his embarrassment.

"Reid? Savannah Leigh?" Hotch called from the top of the stairs leading to the basement. _Oh great!_ Reid thought to himself, _now Hotch is gonna catch me in the basement with this beautiful woman's hands all over me, just what I need._ He felt like slapping himself on the forehead and groaned inwardly. _Would this day never end? Not until we find Aiken. And he sure isn't here in this basement._

"Yeah, we're down here," Reid called tentatively up the stairs, "I don't think he's here." He turned to see Savannah's eyes locked on his own, "Um…perhaps we better get upstairs," he said while awkwardly removing her hands from his hair_. Just how much of this did Hotch see?_ He wondered.

As they made their way up the stairs, Reid leading the way this time, he couldn't shake the feeling that Savannah was watching him a little too close from behind. _Was that her hand that brushed his hips?_ He swallowed hard. _I am on a case, there is a boy who is scared and lost, and here I am thinking about a girl I've just met, what the heck is wrong with me? _He chastised himself. It was a sheepish Reid that greeted Hotch and Morgan when he and Savannah had made it to the top.

Morgan grinned wolfishly, which caused Reid to blush a deeper shade of red. Hotch had a look of concern on his face, "Reid are you okay? Do you need to get that hand looked at?"

"No, it's okay Hotch, we didn't find Aiken in the den, laundry room, pantry, or basement."

"There are still many hiding places to look at outside," Savannah pointed out, leading the way out through the back door.


	4. Running Blind

**Disclaimer:**See first chapter.

Running Blind

"What is needed, rather than running away or controlling or suppressing or any other resistance, is understanding fear; that means, watch it, learn about it, come directly into contact with it. We are to learn about fear, not how to escape from it." – Krishnamurti

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The day before:

When he left the house, Aiken ran blindly through his backyard, past the tire swing, past the tree house he and Braden had built with the help of his Dad and Uncle Billy, past the sign that warned of dogs, and into the forest. He kept running, hoping to get free of the man who had killed his mom and brother, hoping to outrun the images that kept playing over and over in his mind. Running, jumping over fallen logs, stumbling over roots, he kept going, unaware of the scrapes that now graced his face and arms. He felt nothing as he ran; the images of his brother's and mother's deaths kept recycling themselves in his mind, mixing with the stark image of the monster who had killed them so that Aiken could imagine the monster's face floating in front of him, egging him on as he ran. Soon, the sound of harsh laughter echoed in his ears. _Was it real or just his imagination?_ He could feel hot breath on his neck as he ran, causing him to run faster.

As he continued to run, the rhythm of his heart soon matched that of the pounding of his feet, and his breathing began to even out. He started to take comfort in the rhythm; the echoes of laughter began to fade and the feeling of hot breath on his neck disappeared. The images pulsed with each beat of his heart, alternating with each step that he took: the man's face, his mother's dying eyes, his brother's blood inching its way toward him…

Soon, Aiken's breathing took on a ragged quality and his lungs began to burn, yet he continued to stumble forward, deeper into the forest. He feared that if he were to stop the monster would get him and so he pressed on, until his legs finally gave way and he fell to the forest floor, sobbing. Tears mingled with the sheen of sweat that covered his face, snot ran freely from his nose. He wept until he felt that he had nothing left inside. Sitting up, he swiped at his nose with a corner of his dirty t-shirt. Hiccoughing painfully, he stemmed the flow of his tears and, for the first time, took notice of where he was.

A brief solace from the endless picture show of his brother's and mother's deaths stole quietly over him and he noticed that he was alone in the woods and that the sun was starting to set. A momentary panic grasped him and he found he couldn't breathe. Wheezing and coughing, he tried to remember the breathing exercises he and his brother practiced as 'good soldiers' and started his slow count to ten. Again and again, he counted until it was no longer painful to breathe.

Looking around, he took in his surroundings, trying to find anything that looked familiar. A tired sob escaped his lips and he firmly told himself that, _no matter what, he would not cry again because it would not help him._ He was so tired, yet he knew that he should get up and try to find a way out of the forest before it got too dark. There were many wild animals that lived here that Aiken knew were not friendly: wildcats, bears, and snakes among them. He really had to get out of here, he knew it would grow cold as well, even in the middle of summer, being so deep in the woods; the cold would seep into his bones.

He had been lost in the woods once before, but Braden and his father had found him before it got too dark. He had cried that time and it was so scary that he had dreamt about it for several nights afterwards. He was able to find comfort in his brother's or parent's bed then and he had felt so safe. The thought of being lost forever and never being able to see his Mom, Dad, and brother again had nearly suffocated him at the time. Now, he would no longer be able to go to his mother or brother for comfort.

Suddenly thoughts of his father engulfed him, _what would his dad be thinking? Had he returned home yet? Would he think Aiken had been a coward for running away? Would he look for him? Maybe his dad would find him. But would he really want him? Maybe he thought he was dead too and wouldn't look for him. Would he rather have Braden alive? _Aiken knew that his dad loved him, but sometimes he thought that he loved his older brother just a little bit more, would he be disappointed that he had survived and his brother had not? These thoughts started racing through his head and nearly caused him to start crying again, but he bit his bottom lip determined not to begin crying, knowing that it would be hard to stop once he started.

Bracing himself, he stood shakily, turning in a full circle. His dad had thought it important to teach Braden and him survival skills after he had gotten lost and Aiken remembered how he had drilled into them both what to do if they were lost: walk in an ever-widening circle. He began his walk, hoping that he would recognize something soon, fearing that the images that he had been freed from would assault his mind once again or that the monster would somehow pop out and grab him.

Taking a deep breath, he began his second circle, then his third, and his fourth. He always kept the same tree in sight so that he would know he wasn't going off the path and getting further lost. It was starting to get dark on his fifth circle and he began to shiver. He was thirsty, tired, dirty, and he ached all over. Maybe he should lie down and rest. He really should wait just a bit though, until he found a good place to lie down, a place where he could hide himself.

It was on his tenth circle when he finally recognized the road to Savannah Leigh's place. He nearly jumped in joy, and though he was so exhausted that he could barely put one foot in front of the other he began to sprint down the road that would lead him to a place he considered to be his second home. Grandpa Joe was no longer alive, but his granddaughter, Savannah Leigh, the most beautiful woman Aiken had ever met, was just as friendly. She always let him, his brother, and cousins come over any time they wanted. Her smile could take away nearly every ache he had, and she always smelled of lavender and vanilla – his favorite smell besides that of the chocolate chip cookies his Mom always baked on Saturdays.

Savannah, whose voice was like the brook behind his house, soothing and bubbling at the same time, would be able to help him. She would hold him and sing to him. He would feel safe again. Maybe he'd even wake up and everything will have just been a terrible, terrible nightmare.

When he neared the house, his footsteps began to falter; he grasped his knees greedily drinking in ragged breaths of the cold air. Her truck wasn't in the drive, she was gone. His heart gave a sick flip-flop as he fell to the gravel road, rocks biting into his bare knees.


	5. Sidelined

**Disclaimer****: **See first chapter.

**Warning**: Spoiler for "Revelations" (episode 37) season 2. This warning serves for future chapters as well.

Sidelined

"History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again." – Maya Angelou

* * *

"Watch your step, there's a bit of a drop-off. I haven't gotten around to fixing the back steps yet," Savannah said over her shoulder just as Reid landed once more on his butt. _Real dignified there Reid, way to go. How to Win Friends and Influence People the Spencer Reid Way, over ten copies sold world-wide, _he thought grimly as he picked himself up out of the dirt. _At least it hadn't rained recently or I'd be caked in mud. Thank god for small favors._

He stood to find that, not only was Savannah watching him; a glint of mischief in her hazel eyes, but both Hotch; his mouth in a grim line, and Morgan; a big-old grin on his face had also stopped to watch his humiliation. All three of them had managed to make it out the back door without falling. Grimacing, he attempted to straighten his tall frame only to find that he had somehow managed to pull something in his back. _Good going, just fake it, maybe no one will notice, there's a little boy out there who needs to be found._

"You okay Reid?" Instant concern etched Morgan's face as he reached out an arm to his colleague and friend.

"I'm fine," Reid struggled to stand upright and winced. _Damn._

"We'd better get you back in the house and lie you down on a bed," Savannah had also reached a hand out to Reid. Both she and Morgan put an arm around the young man's waist and helped him back up into the house and steered him toward the main bedroom.

"I'll be fine," Reid protested, unable to actually pull away from Savannah's and Morgan's hold. Hotch hovered behind in the doorway, regarding the trio with a stern, yet unreadable look on his face. _He's going to regret ever letting me on the team at the rate I'm going, _Reid thought dismally, _crack shot FBI agent to the rescue. More like bumbling idiot. He could just hear Hotch when they got back to headquarters, "Reid…we need to reevaluate your position on the BAU…maybe you'd be better suited to desk rather than field work…you have a great mind that we can really use, but…"_

"Reid, we'll go check out the rest of the property, there's a barn out back and what looks like a makeshift junkyard. You can focus on anything we may have overlooked when we profiled our unsub," Hotch said without preamble.

"I'll go get a heating pad," Savannah rushed out of the room, returning a minute later with an old electric heating pad which she plugged in and brought over to the bed.

"Can you arch your back?" She asked as she placed a hand under his back to lift him, sending a tingle up his spine. For a moment Reid relished the feeling, a tense smile playing at his lips until a fresh spasm tore at his lower back. Clenching the bedspread in his fist, Reid ground his teeth and grimaced in pain.

"Here's some aspirin," Morgan pressed two pills into his friend's hand, handing him a glass of water. Reid struggled to lift himself enough to drink the water, but found that he couldn't. Savannah was quick to help him up and he sent her a grateful half-smile as he popped the pills into his mouth and sipped the water. Laying his head down on the pillow, he closed his eyes, waiting for the aspirin to take some affect, he knew it wouldn't be as good or quick as Dilaudid would and he scolded himself for even thinking that. _Where's an NA meeting when I need one?_ He thought ruefully.

"Where's your cell phone?" Hotch asked.

"In my pocket," Reid opened his eyes and reached into his pocket to lay the phone on the bed next to him.

"Make sure that you keep it on and next to you in case anything happens. We'll finish checking the rest of the property and come and get you," Hotch's voice was strained. _He must be angry that he has to waste so much valuable time on me,_ Reid thought.

"Did you hear me Reid?" _Definitely a bit of impatience there._

"I'll be fine Hotch, it's not like some psycho is hiding in the basement or anything," Reid rolled his eyes and tried to sound lighthearted, but Hotch just gave him a pointed look and placed the cell phone on his chest.

"We'll be back soon," Hotch turned and headed out of the bedroom.

"Reid, don't worry about it. It'll be okay, just relax and think about how we're gonna get this guy," Morgan had read the worry that crossed Reid's features and knew that more than just the injury bothered the young man.

"Yeah," Reid said resignedly, "I'll rethink our profile. You guys go out and be the heroes." _Man he really hated how whiny that had come out._ Groaning inwardly, Reid closed his eyes once again and felt a light touch on his forehead as fingers brushed at his hair.

"Shhh…you just rest now," Savannah said in a soothing voice as she lightly kissed his lips and then left to join Morgan and Hotch in the search for Aiken.

When the door made a loud _thunk_, Reid started thinking through the profile his team had come up with a couple of days ago. Going through the information the area police had given them, they had concluded that the man they were looking for was in his late thirties or early forties, was scarred or disfigured in some minor way, spent weeks at a time studying his victims after he had chosen them, and that the crime was not sexually motivated.

They reasonably concluded that the murders were premeditated and well planned out. He waited for the husband to leave for work on a Wednesday and was invited into the home, like those inside were expecting someone (there was no sign of a forced entry at any of the 5 homes that he had invaded), and then he killed those who remained in the house, notably a mother and a son.

Usually those were the only two left in the home after the husband had gone. The husband would return after work to find his wife and son had been murdered with a knife from the kitchen. It would be staged to look like the murder had been committed by a distraught husband during a particularly heated argument. As a matter of fact, the first two husbands had been brought up on suspicion of murder and had only recently been cleared of any guilt. The unsub wanted the crime to look like domestic violence had turned to murder.

It was the third such murder that had the police looking at someone other than the husband. The husband, in this case, had not been the one to find the bodies. Instead, the neighbor kid, who had gone over to ask if his friend could go to the park, had discovered the bodies. Used to walking in after knocking, he entered the house and saw someone dressed in black leaving through the kitchen door. He called out for his friend, and when he got no response, he walked into the kitchen and that is where he found them.

When the fourth murder took place two weeks later, a homicide detective began to put the pieces together and discovered that three other similar murders had taken place within a 50 mile radius. He asked the chief to call the FBI when he realized that this could be the work of a serial killer who preyed on housewives and their sons.

As Reid thought through the profile and the facts of the crimes, he paused when he got to the most recent double homicide. It was different in that more than one boy was present. The Randalls had two sons, surely the unsub would have known that, given the amount of time he appeared to invest in studying his intended victims prior to committing the murders. In addition, the boy had not been killed with a knife; he had died from a blunt trauma to his head. _Was it Braden and Molly's determination to keep Aiken safe that had caused events to turn out differently? Maybe they had fought more with the unsub and in his frustration he had thrown Braden into the refrigerator where he had struck his head and died. Had he even looked for Aiken? Maybe they were wrong in their profile with the assumption that the unsub studied the homes for a couple of weeks prior to committing the crime. How would he know there would be a housewife and a child in the homes if he didn't? Was he only going after those homes in which there were a housewife and a son? Could there be other murders they weren't looking at because the profile was not including everything it should?_

Reid was torn abruptly from his thoughts when he heard the front door being pushed open. Were they already done looking for Aiken?

"Hotch? Morgan? Savannah?" He called from the room.

No one answered. Reid listened intently, trying to catch any sound coming from the other room. _Why won't they answer?_ Opening his eyes, he placed his hand on his gun, and positioned himself so that he could see the door better.

Straining his ears and calming his breathing, Reid could just make out the sound of footsteps entering the kitchen. His heart began to beat a little more quickly and he attempted to sit up, failing as his back screamed in pain that nearly doubled him over.

"Who's there?" He called out. He knew he was being irrational, but in his mind he pictured a figure dressed in black searching the kitchen counter and drawers for a boning knife. Though he knew it would be highly improbable, his imagination continued to torture him further, as he pictured the man steadily making his way toward the bedroom, intent upon killing him.

He heard someone open and close something in the kitchen. His breathing quickened and he fumbled with his cell phone, hitting the speed dial for Morgan. _Everything is going to be okay; Morgan, Hotch, and Savannah will be here any minute carrying a frightened, yet safe Aiken_ _and the person in the kitchen would turn out to be Savannah's boyfriend – no – brother or sister. Why wasn't Morgan picking up? _Looking at his cell phone, Reid realized that there weren't any bars and that his cell didn't have any reception. _Damn it! _He threw his cell phone to the floor. It was useless.

"Whoever you are, I have a gun and I am not afraid to use it," he shouted in what he hoped was a steady, confident voice in spite of the fact that he couldn't move due to the pain in his back. He would not be helpless; he _could_ not be as helpless as he had when he was being held by Hankel and his multiple personalities. He would not go back to that time, he _wouldn't_. Reid scrunched his eyes in pain as he again attempted to sit up straight. He fell out of the bed with a thump and landed in an unimpressive lump on the floor. His gun, which he had just freed from the holster, clattered to the floor as he fell and slid away from his grasp underneath the bed, out of his reach.

Hearing a loud crash followed a few moments later by a bang coming from the kitchen, Reid focused on trying to push himself up off the floor. He would face whatever came his way with bravery, or at least with an attempt at bravery. Gritting his teeth, he managed to roll himself into a sitting position. Placing his back toward the wall he panted heavily willing the pain to subside. His head pounded with the effort. He raised his head shakily, determined to face whatever came his way.

Soft, steady footsteps made their way out of the kitchen and toward the room Reid huddled in. He could hear each step as the intruder drew nearer, _tha thump, tha thump_, like an unfaltering heartbeat. The steps stalled just outside the door, Reid watched through feverish eyes as the knob turned. He took a deep breath, his heart stopping for a beat, and waited for the door to open.


	6. Safety

**Disclaimer:**See first chapter. The lyrics for the song,"Coo Coo", were written by Peter Albin and sung by Janis Joplin. Research for PTSD was done online through NMH and Medline Plus websites.

* * *

Safety

"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age." - H.P. Lovecraft, "The Call of Cthulhu"

* * *

The Night Before: Aiken Finds a Place to Hide

Aiken wasn't sure what he should do, but he knew he couldn't just stay in Savannah's driveway. It was dark, he was cold and hungry, and he was tired. The door wouldn't be locked, it was never locked, but what would it be like to be in the house all on his own? He had never been left alone, even by accident and shivered at the thought. He was now alone. All alone. No one was going to come for him. His mother and brother were dead, his father didn't know where he was, Savannah wasn't even home, and it was pitch dark.

He pushed to his feet, brushed the pebbles from his knees, and staggered toward the empty shell of a house. It looked ghostly to Aiken, he wasn't so sure he wanted to go in after all, but what other choice did he have? It was too late to go home, and what if that monster returned? What if his mom and Braden were still there, their bodies lying in the kitchen, unmoving?

He reached the rickety porch and stumbled up the steps. Nearly falling headlong, he grasped the thin railing and followed it along to the front door. Reaching for the knob, he hesitated. His heart beat loud in his ears, the sound of blood rushing through his veins drowned out the chirping of the cicadas. Panic set in and he fumbled with the knob, the face of the monster swimming in his memory. Blood and his mother's eyes intermingled and he found that he could not breathe.

Letting out a strangled cry, he managed to push his way in the door and collapsed into a heap on the floor just inside. He lay there for what seemed like forever, trembling, unable to breathe. His head and chest ached as he continued to hyperventilate.

Crawling into the house, he pushed the door shut with his feet and inched his way toward the living room. He pulled himself onto the couch and dragged Savannah's afghan over him, shivering with the cold. He tried to banish the images of his mother and brother from his mind so that he could sleep. If he could sleep, maybe when he woke up it would all have just been a terrible nightmare. Yeah, when he woke up he would be in his own bed, Braden would be in the next room, and his mom and dad would be down the hall within easy reach. He would just have to cry out and one of them, probably his mom, would come to bring him a glass of water and sing him to sleep.

He curled into a ball on the couch and fell asleep imagining that his mom held him, rocking him as she sang, "Oh the cuckoo, she's a pretty bird, and she warbles when she flies, But she never hollers 'cuckoo' till the fourth day of July. I said Jack o'Diamonds, well Jack o'Diamonds, Oh I - Oh I know you of old. Honey you robbed me of my silver and out of - of all my gold, all the gold - all my gold…"

The sun woke him, setting the room ablaze in gold and orange. At first Aiken didn't know where he was. He unfurled himself and stretched out, realizing that he wasn't in his bed, but on a couch, he wondered if maybe he had awoken during the night and gone downstairs to the living room. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the light, he looked around him, fully expecting to see his own living room: the grandfather clock on the mantle over the brick fireplace; the wooden rocking horse his father had made for Braden before he had been born, that had been passed on to him, and was now a relic sitting in a corner of the room with tiny nicks and only a few strands of the now faded yellow yarn that had made up the mane; and the Tiffany lamp his mother had recently gotten at a neighborhood rummage sale – she had raved about that lamp for days.

What greeted his tired eyes instead was a dull, dusty wooden coffee table full of rings where cups had been placed on it without coasters over the years; a broken clock hanging from a wall covered with peeling butter yellow wallpaper; and twin end tables that held candles and lamps with broken shades positioned on either side of the lumpy couch upon which he lay. Blinking back tears and swallowing the lump in his throat, he struggled to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. He remembered falling asleep to his mother's singing, but then how had he awoken in this strange place?

Getting off the couch, he was surprised to find that he was sore. His body ached and was stiff and it was hard for him to move without causing pain to course through his body. He had to pee. Where was the bathroom? He looked around and walked toward a hall to the right. He found a small bathroom there and, after relieving himself, he was shocked to discover that he was all scratched up and dirty. What had happened? Had he and Braden been playing soldiers in the woods and gotten lost? His dad and mom would not be happy that they had been gone all night long.

Maybe he could find a phone and call home. Where was Braden? All of these thoughts seem to hit him all at once and he stood trembling in front of the bathroom mirror. Deciding that he should clean up a bit before finding his brother and a phone, he turned the water on in the sink and began to wash up. When he had finished, he walked down the hall and came to a bedroom, taking a quick look inside he discovered that Braden was not there and went on to the kitchen.

He, for some reason, could not make himself walk into the kitchen which was covered in black and white tiles. An image of blood pouring out over the tile entered his mind, but he quickly pushed it away, not willing to let his mind go there. He took a tentative step forward and found it difficult to breathe, like a weight was sitting on his chest. He forced himself to walk further into the kitchen and looked for a phone. There wasn't one. Maybe he could find something to eat in the refrigerator and look for his brother and a phone in the other rooms.

Opening the fridge, he found milk in a glass container, some cheese, butter, bread (he remembered that his mom said bread didn't mold as quickly if it were kept in the fridge), meat in butcher paper sitting on a plate – blood pooling under the wrapper tingeing it a light brown, a drawer full of vegetables and apples, and a half a dozen brown eggs. He grabbed the milk, setting it on the counter he searched for glasses in the cupboards and discovered some in the third one that he opened. He also came across some Cheerios® and found a bowl. Pouring himself a bowl of Cheerios® and a glass of milk, he placed the milk back in the fridge and searched through the drawers for a spoon. When he came to a drawer filled with knives, he jumped back and started to panic, his breathing coming out in short breathes and his heart beating rapidly. He quickly closed the drawer.

Carrying his breakfast carefully toward a small table for two that sat under a window, he pulled out a scarred wooden chair and sat down to eat. _Surely Braden would wake up any minute and come to get his own breakfast._ When he finished eating, he brought his empty bowl and cup over to the sink and rinsed them. Maybe he should wash them, but his mom said that he had to be really careful when washing glasses as they could break in your hand and cut you if you put too much pressure on them. Once, when she was a little girl, she had stuck her hand inside of a glass when she was cleaning it and it had broken around her hand. A piece had cut through the palm of her hand and she had to have stitches. Aiken remembered tracing the scar with his finger. No, he wouldn't do the dishes; he would leave those for his brother.

"Braden?" Aiken called tentatively, "Braden?" He was starting to get a little worried. Where could Braden be? He couldn't find a phone either. Maybe he should try upstairs.

The stairs looked old, the flowered carpeting that covered them was becoming threadbare and there were parts where the wooden step could be seen though holes worn into the carpet. They squeaked beneath him as he walked upstairs. He imagined himself as a mouse, sneaking up on his brother. Tiptoeing down the hallway, he found several rooms to his left and his right and looked in each of them. None of them housed either his brother or a phone.

A little disappointed, he began a slow trek back down the steps and into the living room. He found a door to the left of the bathroom and, upon opening it, discovered that it led down to a dark basement. The cold of it seeped into him as he stood at the top of the stairs. The single light bulb that hung overhead did little to illuminate the basement which he could see was covered in cobwebs. He shuddered at the thought of going down there. _No way would Braden or a phone be down there_, he thought as he turned the light off and shut the door as quickly as he could.

Tired from his exploration of the house, he decided that, even though it was still early, he would take a short nap. Maybe when he awoke he'd be able to find Braden. Maybe when he awoke, he'd be home again. Curling into a ball on the couch, he again covered himself with the afghan and slept.

Waking a few hours later, he was again disoriented and hungry. Once he got his bearings he freshened himself up in the bathroom and slowly made his way to the kitchen. _Why is it so hard to walk into a kitchen?_ He chided himself; he needed to stop being such a baby! If Braden saw him he would laugh for sure. Making himself a sandwich, he sat at the table once more and ate.

After his meal, he grabbed an apple from the fridge and decided that perhaps he had better go look for his brother outside. Maybe Braden had gone exploring while he had taken a nap. Ignoring the nagging feeling that something terrible had happened to his brother, Aiken pulled the front door open and stepped outside.


	7. Comfort the Fearful Part I

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Comfort the Fearful Part I

Robert Heinlein wrote, "Courage is the complement of fear. A man who is fearless cannot be courageous. (He is also a fool.)" - Lazarus Long, _Time Enough for Love _

* * *

Reid certainly was not a fool, nor did he feel particularly courageous. If truth be told, at the moment, as he sat on the floor, his aching back against the wall, his eyes squinted in pain, he felt rather like a scared little boy. His heart continued to beat a staccato pattern in his chest and his breathing remained ragged and labored. _Calm down!_ He ordered himself. He would face whoever was on the other side of the door with as much bravery as he could muster, admittedly though, that wasn't much. _If only Morgan or Hotch were here. If only I could reach one of them on the cell phone. If only I hadn't lost my gun._ Strangely enough, Reid's list of 'if onlys' served to calm his nerves a bit. His breathing had nearly normalized as the door began to creak open.

The crack in the door cast a sliver of light across the room, bathing Reid's face in an eerie glow. Unable to move, he sat propped against the wall, shivering in pain and fear. He could hear heavy breathing on the other side of the door as it slowly inched its way open, seemingly of its own accord. The bed obscured Reid's view; he couldn't see who was entering the room. He could only see the top of the door over the bed and the bottom of the door under the bed which showed him the tip of a white and blue tennis shoe clad foot.

_Odd_, Reid didn't think that the unsub would wear tennis shoes. He pictured the man wearing heavy boots, much like Hankel had. As a matter of fact, the mental picture that Reid held in his mind of the person on the other side of the door was entirely Hankel complete with a syringe in his hand and a maniacal look on his face. True the young man had been troubled and had a number of personalities brought on by years of abuse from his father, but in Reid's mind the young man had been, in a manner of speaking, a monster. Something Reid secretly feared he himself would become thanks to his own less than ideal upbringing, endurance of years of unmerciful bullying at the hands of peers who apparently thought him to be worth nothing more than a punching bag, and his mother's mental illness.

Though Reid understood that his fear was irrational and that Hankel was dead, he couldn't stop the images of his confinement and subsequent torture at the hands of the man from bombarding his mind. Nor could he stop himself from trembling as these memories forced him to relive the horror. It was strange, in one part of his mind he was completely rational, he could reason with himself and tell himself that all was okay, Hankel was dead. But, there was another part of his mind, the part that seemed to have hijacked his body, which insisted that Hankel was on the other side of the door very much alive and that he was going to come in to put the poison in his veins again. Then, Hankel's personality would change, quick as lightning, and he would be at the mercy of a madman intent upon beating the _devil_ out of him. His rational mind kept talking to him calmly and insistently, _Hankel is not alive, he is dead, you killed him, remember? He can't hurt you anymore. He's dead. You are safe._ While he calmly rationalized with himself, another part of his mind kept him cowering in fear, reliving the horror and seeing Hankel step into the room, towering over him, like a shadow.

He didn't hear the soft questioning voice calling out for Braden, nor did he see the figure of a small boy step tentatively into the room. He kept muttering a steady mantra of, "Hankel's not alive, he's dead, come on snap out of it! You're okay; no one's going to hurt you. You're okay. You're okay…" as he huddled himself into as small of a ball as he possibly could, trying to make himself invisible.

Aiken stepped into the room, he could have sworn that when he walked into the house that he had heard a voice, but it wasn't very loud and he was a little afraid. He had gone into the kitchen to get a drink when he heard the voice again, this time louder and angry. The next statement that Aiken heard caused him to drop the glass he had been holding with a loud crash, "Whoever you are, I have a gun and I am not afraid to use it." He should have bolted right then, but to his mind it sounded a little like Braden. Could Braden have been here the whole time? Maybe he hadn't searched the house well enough.

He had spent at least two hours walking around the house and into the woods looking for his brother before returning to the house that he now recognized as Savannah's, her white pick-up in the drive giving it away. Knowing that it was Savannah's couch that he had slept upon was a comfort, though he wondered why he hadn't recognized the place earlier. Looking around, it was as if his eyes had been reopened, he could see more clearly. He was a bit alarmed to see that there was a black vehicle in the drive in addition to Savannah's truck and wondered if she had a visitor. When he walked into the house he had been expecting to see Savannah, a welcome smile on her face, but had been greeted by a sense of emptiness and the sound of a voice that he couldn't quite make out. It was so faint that he thought he had imagined it at first until he heard it again when he was in the kitchen. _Where was Savannah? Where was the person who owned the big black vehicle? Was Savannah okay? _

Aiken slowly made his way toward the bedroom from which he thought he had heard Braden's voice. He attempted to call out to his brother as he went along, but for some reason could not seem to find his voice as it came out in a hoarse whisper. As he reached for the knob to open the door, his hand shook and he suddenly lost all confidence that he would find his brother on the other side of the door. Instead, a sickening thought occurred to him and an image of a bloody Braden broke into his mind.

Pulling the door open with a visibly shaking hand, Aiken called out, "Braden?" It came out as no more than a harsh whisper. He had to get rid of this vision of his brother's body, broken and bloody. It couldn't be true. Braden couldn't be dead. Willing himself not to cry, he walked over to the bed, expecting to see his brother there. A sob caught in his throat as he saw, not his brother, but someone else – a man – cowering on the floor.

Reality came slowly to Reid. He didn't know how long he sat there trying to reason with himself only to have some insane part of his mind hold him victim to a paralyzing fear that threatened to tear him apart. When he did finally come to awareness outside of himself, breaking out of his acute terror, he saw a young boy standing before him, tears running down his face. It took a few moments, but Reid, blinking away the disturbing images of Hankel, which threatened to descend upon his mind should he allow them to, was able to sit up, albeit with a great deal of pain.

"Aiken?" He asked softly, his voice coming out in no more than a croak. He recognized him from the picture the BAU had procured from the boy's father. The boy continued to stand there, staring off to some point in front of him, tears streaming down his face as though he hadn't heard Reid.

"Aiken," his voice came out little more than a whisper. Still the boy did not move, save to sway a little on his feet and shift his gaze a little more to the right. And, as though he saw something horrific there, his eyes widened and Reid could see something in them akin to the panic he had mere moments before experienced himself.

"Aiken," Reid attempted to move toward the child, but his muscles, strained in his recent panic attack, resisted the movements he made and kept him stiffly in place. He would have to try to get the child to come to him or figure out a way to loosen his tense muscles. _Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out_, he coached himself and briefly closed his eyes, willing himself to relax.

Opening his eyes, he saw that Aiken was in even greater distress. The boy's gaze was settled on a fixed point just to the right of Reid and it seemed as though the boy had ceased to breathe. Reid forced himself not to panic, he waited, counting to a beat of five and caught the slight movement of the boy's chest as he took a single hitched breath.


	8. Comfort the Fearful Part II

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Comfort the Fearful Part II

"Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions." – Hafez

* * *

Seeing the man cowering in the corner next to the bed acted as a catalyst to Aiken's clouded mind. As he stood there, he could no longer keep the images of his mother and brother's broken bodies at bay. The blood-soaked memory assailed him with such fervor that he could only stand there, trembling. Lost in the recollection of the event, reliving the horrific calamity in its entirety, he didn't hear when Reid called his name. Instead, he heard his mother pleading with the man who killed her, _"Nno, please let me and my son go. Whatever you need, take it, but please just leave. We won't call the police, I promise."_

Tears slipped down his face as he remembered Braden being tossed into the refrigerator, his blood snaking its way to where he hid. He saw his mom's body, lying in front of him, a knife sticking out of her chest, her eyes going dull as she breathed her last. He couldn't stop the memories from coming and he couldn't stop his tears either. If only he could go back to the safety of pretending that his brother was hiding from him, that he was waiting for Aiken to find him and that his mother was at home, baking chocolate chip cookies for them.

"Aiken," Reid called again, reaching out for the boy as he inched his way toward him. He couldn't tell what was going on in the young boy's mind, but it looked as though it was painful and terrifying. He shuddered as he was reminded of how he had spent the last few minutes in the bedroom, fear of Hankel foremost in his mind as he relived his capture at the hands of the madman. _If Aiken were reliving what he had seen happen to his mother and brother…_ Reid knew that he had to get through to him, save him from his own mind.

"Aiken, look at me. My name is Spencer. Spencer Reid. I am with the FBI. I am here to help you," he spoke in dulcet tones hoping to break through the boy's memories and draw him into the present where he would be able to help him. Reid moved stealthily toward the boy, the pain in his lower back screaming out for him to stop. Ignoring the pain, he reached out for the boy, attempting to pull Aiken to himself.

Aiken fought back, not understanding that the arms reaching for him were there to help him, thinking only that he had to get away. This time, as the memory played back in his mind, the monster had found him and was reaching out to grab him and pull him from his hiding place. He bit the hand that reached out for him and kicked at the monster with all of his might. He would not be taken without a fight. He scratched, hit, bit, kicked, and pushed at the monster, struggling to get away from him.

The bite was surprisingly hard and drew blood, scarlet against Reid's pale white skin. Reid pulled his hand back in pain. _Perhaps that hadn't been the best approach. Clearly the boy thinks that I am a threat. I have to get him to trust me and to understand that he is safe._ These thoughts did nothing to assuage the pain of Aiken's attack on his battered body. Reid almost laughed out loud at the thought that when Hotch and Morgan returned, he would look as though he had been beaten. He could feel blood flowing from the gouges caused by Aiken's scratches on his arms as he continued to thrash out at him. Knowing that he had to do something to stop the attack before the boy injured him further or even worse, injured himself, Reid forced his aching body into a kneeling position and wrapped his wounded arms around the boy who continued to flail wildly in a furtive attempt to escape.

"Aiken!" It came out as a semi-strangled gasp, "Aiken, I'm not going to hurt you. Please calm down. Everything is going to be okay," it sounded strange even to his own ears. _Would everything be okay? Who was he to say everything would be okay when his own tattered mind kept bringing him back to that infernal day when Hankel had nearly killed him?_ Letting out a half-sob, he held onto the boy who continued to struggle in his arms, clinging to him as though he were his savior rather than the other way around. He began rocking back and forth, unaware of the tears that streamed down his own face and mingled with Aiken's, his cheek pressed fast against the young boy's, "Hush, it will be okay," _it __**has**__ to be okay. It would be okay wouldn't it? When would it be okay for him? How could he promise that things would be okay when they weren't? How could he give the boy hope that things would be okay when he himself still struggled with terror-filled memories that retained the power to hold him captive more than a year after the nightmarish events with Hankel had occurred? What did he have to offer this frightened little boy that could possibly be a comfort? Who was he trying to fool? How could he help anyone when he was such a failure at helping himself?_

Assailed by these thoughts of self-doubt, Reid continued to hold onto Aiken, who no longer struggled, but had become stiff in his arms. Sighing, he sat and pulled the boy onto his lap, cradling his head to his chest and continued the gentle rocking motion while whispering words of reassurance, his chin resting on the boy's pain in his lower back forgotten, Reid held onto the boy, willing him to relax and breathe normally. Rubbing small circles on Aiken's back, he started when the boy's arms stole around him. Forcing himself to remain calm and not to stiffen up, Reid looked down at the boy. Noticing that his tears had not ceased and his eyes were screwed tight as though he were trying hard to banish some unwanted vision, Reid renewed his rhythmic ministrations of solace hoping that they would allay some of Aiken's fears.

"Shhh, it'll be okay, I've got you now and I won't let anything bad happen to you," Reid soothed as he rocked back and forth, back and forth, lulling the boy into a sense of calmness.

Time seemed to have halted its incessant onward march as they clung to one another. Reid continued to rock Aiken, murmuring childish assurances that oddly enough seemed to dispel the fears of, not only the boy he adhered to, but himself as well. As both boys found comfort for their fear in each other's arms neither noticed the stalwart shadow that furtively embraced their huddled forms. Neither boy heard stealthy footsteps enter the room. Neither boy was aware he was being silently observed from just within the opened doorway.


	9. Mistaken

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Mistaken

"I have learned as a composer chiefly through my mistakes and pursuits of false assumptions, not by my exposure to fonts of wisdom and knowledge." - Igor Stravinsky

* * *

Hotch and Morgan followed Savannah out into the hot, humid air, careful not to stumble where the back step was missing.

"Well, there's a lot of ground out here to cover," Savannah swept her arms out in an all-encompassing circle. "Maybe we should split up," she suggested, "I could head out toward the barn and you…um…Mor…?"

"Morgan," he supplied with a slight frown.

"Yes, Morgan, you could head out toward the swamp in that direction," Savannah pointed off toward the left of the house, "and you," she pointed at Hotch, "you could head off to the right, that's a spot where the boys like to play when they come, there's a tire swing and a lean-to fort."

"Excuse me Miss…Leigh?" Hotch faltered.

"Last name's Breighton."

"Miss Breighton, I think it would be best if we didn't split up," Hotch looked around Savannah's backyard, squinting, a slight frown on his face.

"Well, if that's whatchya think, it's just we could cover more ground if we split up," Savannah shrugged and headed off in the direction of the ramshackle barn. It too had seen better days; the once red paint was now a dirty rust color and peeling in a number of places. The trim was no longer the typical white, but a slight silver color from the wood having become weathered through the years.

"This barn's been around since 1920," Savannah supplied as Hotch and Morgan followed, both keeping their eyes open, looking around in all directions as they made their way to the barn.

"Would Aiken be safe in there?" Morgan gestured toward the barn, his jaw tightened in concern.

"Honestly the boys didn't go out here much, but I don't think it would've fallen down around 'em if they had," Savannah lead the way into the darkened barn, ducking slightly to miss hitting her head on a beam that had fallen. Brushing at cobwebs, Morgan and Hotch followed.

"Aiken," Savannah called, "Aiken sweetie, you in here?" Morgan and Hotch each took a side and searched the barn, careful to avoid beams that had fallen. Savannah made her way up to the loft using a rotting wooden ladder which had threatened to give way under her a couple of times.

"Aiken, are you up here hon?" Savannah swept hay out of her hair as she crawled around the loft. Wood creaking beneath her, she made her way to a window looking out over a field where a few cattle that her grandfather had once had used to graze. She looked out at the field, not seeing Aiken there, she turned away from the window and felt the wood beneath her give a bit. Planting her weight she drew in a sharp breath and waited a couple of seconds before moving forward, praying that she wouldn't come crashing down to the floor beneath her. It wasn't that far of a drop, but she knew that it would hurt and possibly break a bone if she were to fall. Not to mention that it would be embarrassing.

Morgan, having checked out the stalls on the left side of the barn and finding nothing, turned when he heard Savannah's intake of breath. He quickly made his way across the barn and readied himself to catch her should she fall through the decaying wood of the loft. He followed her movements as she slowly made her way to the ladder and held the ladder as she made her way down, catching her when the third rung gave out under her.

"So, you were saying…" Morgan teased, as he turned and put her on her feet, "something about the barn not falling down around them."

"I would have to disagree with that statement," Hotch said from his position near the rear door of the barn, a breeze had started blowing and he watched as the entire roof of the barn swayed in the wind, "I think you should probably have this razed as soon as we get safely out of here. I'm sure it is a fire hazard or against a public ordinance or two."

"You okay?" Morgan asked, releasing his hold on Savannah's shoulders when she had stopped shaking. She nodded, testing her weight on her ankles, and sighed in relief when she remained pain free.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she smiled up at him, blushing.

"I'm heading into the field," Hotch called to the two and walked out of the barn, thanking God that it had not fallen down around him. Savannah and Morgan followed.

"Aiken!" Hotch cupped his hands around his mouth and called hoping to hear a response. When none came, he continued his walk around the right side of the broken fence, stopping every yard or so to call for the boy. Morgan did the same on the left side of the fence and Savannah walked down the middle of the field, sweeping her eyes in all directions.

"He's not here," Hotch let out an exasperated breath, "where else could he be on your property?"

"Maybe he's not even here," Savannah frowned. She had hoped that the boy had sought out her place for refuge, but what if he had gotten lost somewhere in the woods between his home and hers?

"How about over there?" Morgan pointed to a metal shed just off the field.

"It's got a lock on it, but we can check," Savannah hopped over the fence and lead the way.

"Looks like the lock's intact," Hotch sighed heavily as he let the lock drop back into place, "Aiken? You in here?" He called anyway. Getting no answer, the three turned away from the shed and made their way back toward the barn.

"We can check the swamp area on the other side of the barn and the little play area on this side," Savannah said with a defeated voice, "maybe he's hiding in the lean-to fort or maybe he went into the swamp, though I hope not."

"Maybe we should've split up," Hotch looked around. Savannah's property seemed to be getting larger by the minute. Maybe he should call in another team member as he didn't want them to be on their own, Savannah's near accident convinced him that he had made the right decision in the first place, yet he wanted to cover more territory as quickly as possible. Every minute counted when a child was missing; the thought of his own son going missing prompted him to reach for his phone. He punched in the speed dial for Prentiss and waited, frustration quickly coloring his face when he realized that there was no reception.

"You got a signal?" Hotch asked Morgan who had dialed Garcia.

"Nothing," Morgan replied, looking around. They sure were isolated.

"You got a phone?" Hotch asked Savannah who was already shaking her head.

"Sorry, no phone, I don't spend much time out here during the week, and sometimes I get cell phone reception, but most times I don't," she offered a sympathetic look.

"Okay, you two go off in that direction," Hotch said grimly, "I'll go around the barn toward the swamp. If you run into any trouble holler." He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that Aiken was somewhere nearby. Or perhaps he was just hanging onto that hope, knowing that the alternative was by far a much worse scenario. Either way, he was not giving up on this search until Aiken was found and brought home safely or he was physically carted away.

He briefly felt a moment of anxiety remembering that Reid was alone in Savannah's house with a cell phone that was probably not working. He hoped that the young man was okay. As he passed the back door of the house on his way to the swamp, he thought momentarily of popping in to check on Reid, but dismissed the idea as overprotective. He didn't want Reid to feel smothered or as though he didn't trust the young man. He knew that he had been embarrassed and was feeling ill-at-ease over what had happened earlier. Not having the time to address the issue, Hotch had let it slide, thinking he could talk to the boy after Aiken had been found. He knew that Reid needed the reassurance and that the young man struggled with feeling that he was strong enough and probably had even more self-doubt due to his torture at the hands of Hankel. That still made him angry and filled him with sorrow every time he thought of it.

* * *

"So, tell me about Reid," Savannah threw over her shoulder as she made her way into the lean-to, looking for Aiken. She needed a diversion to keep her from despair at the thought of never finding Aiken. She also kept thinking about what the little boy had witnessed; her mind kept playing various scenes of Molly and Braden's deaths, each more gruesome than the last. Morgan's eyes were raking the woods that encompassed the play area, which appeared to be the newest portion of the farm.

"Um, what do you want to know?" Morgan stood facing the woods, his hands on his hips, a scowl on his face as he tried in vain to see what was not there – a little boy they had spent the past forty minutes scouring Savannah's property for.

"Well, what's he like? Is he always so awkward?" Savannah, not looking in Morgan's direction did not notice the faint smile that played at his lips. Though he was searching for a frightened little boy, he was happy that this beautiful woman seemed to be interested in his friend. He could see them together. She could supply the confidence Reid seemed to lack. Yeah, she would be good for him.

Clearing his throat, Morgan spoke, "Well, he's a genius you know, he remembers everything he sees and reads and is a great asset to the team in the sheer amount of what he can reason out in that mind of his. He is a bit awkward in certain situations, especially around women. He is very sweet and gentle," what else should he tell this woman? Morgan suddenly felt protective of his friend. What did

he really know about this woman other than she had inherited a broken down farm, knew the victims, and was good looking? Could he trust her with his friend's heart? He didn't want to see Reid broken again. He knew that he was stronger than many would give him credit for, but still, could this beauty be trusted with something as precious as his friend's heart?

"Go on," Savannah crawled out of the lean-to, dusting dirt off her pants, and looked back toward the house, a wistful smile in place. Perhaps when they walked back to the house, Aiken would be there with Reid and all would be well. Smothering a gasp with the back of her hand, she wiped at a tear that threatened to fall as she realized that nothing would ever be the same for Aiken or his father. Their lives would be forever haunted by this monster that had killed two key people in their world. _Why had he chosen to go after Molly and Braden? Why hadn't he killed Aiken too? What kind of monster would kill a kind woman like that and a little boy?_

"You'll have to find out the rest for yourself," Morgan said noncommittally; not looking in Savannah's direction he hadn't seen the grimace on her face, "where else should we look?"

Sighing, Savannah led them to a small garage off to the side of the house, past their vehicles parked in the gravel drive. Morgan shook his head in disbelief when she pried open the garage door. If Aiken were in there, he would have had to really squeeze himself in, it was packed with boxes and rusty junk from one end to the other. He doubted a mouse could fit itself in the garage, let alone a little boy, no matter how small he was.

"Okay, so doubtful Aiken could be in here," Morgan turned away from the garage.

"Well, there's always the crick," Savannah turned and headed toward the small play area, but cut off toward the right just before reaching the lean-to. Morgan quickly followed, picking his way through the trees. Savannah seemed hell-bent on getting to that crick. Or maybe she had been offended by the way in which he had changed the subject from Reid to the search so abruptly. He nearly bumped into her as she had stopped walking without any warning.

"He's been here," the happiness was evident in her voice. The grin she wore radiated her face.

"How do you know that?" Morgan asked.

"Look here, there's a footprint in the mud along the bank," she pointed at what looked like an imprint of a boy's sneaker. Morgan knelt down, unconcerned about the mud that stained his khakis. The track looked fresh; perhaps it had been made that day. It would be hard to tell, normally a print made in mud would dry up and eventually become untraceable within a matter of a few days, but here it would take longer for that to happen. The thick foliage allowed for little sun to peak through, so the ground was moist and the air cooler where they stood. A print could last for weeks undisturbed.

"When is the last time that Aiken and Braden visited?" Morgan noticed another bigger print a few feet away from the one that Savannah had discovered.

"They were out here last Saturday," she said crestfallen. It seemed crazy that only four days ago Braden, Aiken, and their cousins had been out to the farm. They had helped her work on the kitchen and one of the upstairs rooms and had played outdoors until Molly had come to drop off dinner for Savannah and pick them up. Savannah had enjoyed the day and had looked forward to this coming weekend with the boys. She knew that it gave Molly and Steve some much needed alone time and it gave her much needed help. Tears flooded her eyes as the reality of it all hit her. She couldn't even imagine how hard this would be for Steve when it all sunk in.

Sensing the change in her mood, Morgan stood and pulled her into a hug, cradling her head against his chest, rubbing his hand on her back in a gesture of comfort. Tears overflowed and spilled down her cheeks, wetting his black t-shirt. "Shhh, I know it hurts," he murmured, "right now we need to focus on finding Aiken, okay." He pulled back from her when she took in a shuddery breath and pushed against his chest. Wiping her tears away, she took another deep breath and plastered a watery smile on her face.

"Aiken?" She called half-heartedly, "Where are you?"

* * *

A mile in the other direction, Hotch was asking the same question as he rested for a moment on a fallen log before making his way back toward the house. Maybe Morgan and Savannah had experienced better luck. Maybe they had found Aiken.


	10. Unfortunate Luck

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Unfortunate Luck

"True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table; luckiest is he who knows just when to rise and go home." – John Hay

* * *

Hotch got to his feet and worked his way back toward the house, keeping his ears tuned so he would be able to hear if either Savannah or Morgan called out to him. He wondered what would greet him when he returned to the house. _Would Reid's back have had enough time to relax so that he wouldn't be in too much pain on his ride back to their temporary headquarters at the police station? Would Savannah and Morgan have found Aiken so they could return him to his father?_

As Hotch picked his way through the vines that threatened to entangle him, he let his thoughts wander to the unsub. _After having staked out the previous homes for what would appear to be weeks at a time and choosing places he could get into without much trouble during the day and in which two people remained, why had he chosen the Randalls? If the pattern rang true, he would've had to have staked the house out for at least a couple of weeks and surely would've realized that when Steve left for the day, Aiken, Braden, and Molly would be home and that within the hour Molly's brother Jake would drop his boys off on his way to work. Maybe they were looking for two different people entirely. Maybe this double murder had not been planned out with the same amount of precision as the last several ones because it was not the same man. _

Making a mental note to have the team reassess the profile on their unsub disregarding the past double murders, Hotch continued to painstakingly make his way out of the swampland. He was hot and sticky and could feel multiple stings as mosquitoes attacked the flesh on his exposed arms and neck. Cursing as he swatted at a particularly fat looking mosquito that had sated itself on his blood, he pulled his cell phone out yet again, hoping this time for a signal. Sighing in defeat and frustration, he slammed the phone shut and jammed it back into his pocket. He had once thought of moving out to the country with Jack and his wife, but this short expedition had convinced him that life in the suburbs wasn't all that bad, at least he could still use his cell phone in the neighborhood.

"Damn," he accidentally let a branch go too soon and it whipped him in the face, leaving a welt, just under his eye. He knew that he would be walking out looking worse for the wear with tiny scratches along his arms and dirt on his once clean and starched white shirt which now hung limply on his frame, sweat wetting it under the arms and at a point along his back. He truly hoped the others were having better luck than he was.

* * *

"Don't worry," Morgan rubbed Savannah's arms in an attempt to comfort her, "we'll find Aiken soon, if not us, then Hotch or one of the others searching will." She turned away from him, glaring at the creek, watching as a wayward branch was tossed about by the current.

"I just don't understand why anyone would want to kill Molly and Braden. She was the sweetest woman, a great mom to her two boys, and a wonderful friend. Braden is…was such a sweet kid, and so helpful. I remember the first day I met them. He offered to help me fix the door," she broke off; the rogue branch had become entangled in a water-logged root. Stooping to free the entrapped branch, Savannah swayed on the edge, Morgan caught her by the arm before she could fall into the murky waters. Biting back a cry of surprise, Savannah landed on her butt beside the tree whose roots had caught the branch, taking Morgan with her. Laughing bitterly, Savannah dug into the mud with the rescued branch.

Leaning heavily on the tree for support, Morgan raised himself up off the ground and into a half-standing position. Offering his free hand to Savannah, he nearly found himself in the creek when she batted his hand away. With a heavy sigh, he settled down next to her, "Savannah, look, I know that this is hard, but right now there is a lost boy out there who needs you to remain strong for him. Steve's going to need your support too. It sounds like Aiken really trusts you and if that is true; you need to be here for him – emotionally. I know you want to break down, hell, I'd even say that you are entitled to a break down, but you can't break down right now. Aiken needs you. I'll give you a moment, but we need to get up out of this mud and go find him."

While Morgan spoke, Savannah continued to dig circles into the mud. Though his words rang true, she could not bring herself to look up at him. Part of her was disappointed that the footprints had been a false lead, she had wanted so much to believe that Aiken had been here and that he was nearby, to have that hope dashed caused her heart to plummet. It was all some horrible nightmare she felt sure she would wake up from any minute. Pinching herself, she flinched when it did nothing to jar her out of this distorted dream-like reality she had found herself in a few short hours ago. As much as she didn't want to believe it, Molly and Braden were dead, Aiken was lost, and the madman who had killed her friends was God only knew where. Taking a deep, shaky breath to steady herself, Savannah tossed the branch back into the swirling water and watched it make its way further down the creek before standing. Steadying herself with the tree, she offered a hand to Morgan, pulling him to his feet, "Let's get this done."

As he stood, something shiny at the edge of the creek bed caught his eye, "What is…?" He muttered to himself, as he reached for the object located in the tree just above Savannah's head. Plucking it from the low-hanging branch, he discovered that it was a kid's Scooby Doo watch. Turning to Savannah who had left the creek, he held up the watch, "Was this Aiken's?"

Peering closely at the watch held in Morgan's hand, she noticed the glass over the face of the watch had been broken. Nodding as if to herself, she took the watch, fingering the web-like cracks that had spidered across the small face, "Yeah, he never took this watch off. Molly said she had to battle him every night about takin' it off before his bath. His brother gave it to him for his birthday," she broke off, a thoughtful look on her face.

"And?" Morgan pressed, sensing that there was something being left unsaid.

"And, he was wearing this the other day, after he and his brother had come back from playing by the creek. As a matter of fact, he broke the face of it while helping me carry in a few tools from my truck," she smiled triumphantly. Aiken had been there not too long ago. He could be in her house this very moment!

"Let's get back to the house, he could be there. I hope he found Reid," hope could be heard singing in her voice as she led the way back toward her home.

Not wanting to dash her hopes, yet giving into the nagging doubt that weighed on his mind, Morgan cleared his throat, stopping Savannah in her tracks, "Savannah, if he never takes his watch off, how come I found it hanging in the tree? If it had somehow got stuck in the tree, he would've noticed it had gone missing and come looking for it."

Savannah did not like what Morgan was insinuating, her eyes worriedly scanned the whirling waters for a shock of brown hair and a white t-shirt. Relieved when her immediate fears were not realized, she glared in Morgan's direction, "Maybe he hasn't realized he lost it yet, God knows he's got a lot to occupy his mind right now. Or maybe, he gave up after looking for a while. He is not in that creek; I won't lose him too!"

Unsure of how best to comfort her, knowing that he had to be open to all potentialities – including that of the boy drowning – Morgan nodded in agreement, scolding himself for even alluding to his deepest fears in front of Savannah. _Should have kept that to myself_, he rebuked. He mentally stowed the possibility of Aiken falling into the creek and drowning for later. He would discuss that particular misgiving with Hotch.

"I'm sure you're right," he said with a smile and as much confidence as he could muster as he gestured for her to lead the way out of the woods and back toward her home where he prayed they would find the young boy safe with Reid.

* * *

_Haven't I already been this way before? _Hotch wondered as he looked at a vine-covered branch that looked slightly familiar. _Hell, everything looks slightly familiar,_ he thought with malice. Sighing he carefully picked his way through yet another spider web, warily casting his gaze around for the spider that had made it as it was particularly large and he, though loath to admit it, had a phobia of spiders. _Where am I?_ He questioned himself for about the hundredth time since he had gotten up off that log he had taken a break on not so long ago- or had it been longer than he thought? Looking at his watch, he was surprised to discover that twenty minutes had passed since he had turned back toward Savannah's home. It had been an hour since he had entered the swamp to search for Aiken. _Why did I agree to a split up?_ He wondered.

Staving off the panic that clutched at his heart, refusing to admit that he was lost, Hotch pressed forward, determined to find Savannah's place. Ignoring the doubts that tugged at his intuition, he continued to walk in the direction he had been going for the past twenty minutes. Unwilling to admit that he should never have let himself get talked into splitting up though he had, along with Savannah, agreed that it would be better to look in more than one place at a time– it had saved time. Now, however, he regretted his decision.

_Ouch, _he swatted at another mosquito, leaving a bloody smear on his arm. _Great, here I am in the middle of a swamp in Nowheresville, Alabama, lost_. The irony of the situation caused him to bark out a laugh void of humor. _Ah, there's the very log I rested on twenty minutes ago_, grimacing, he sat down in an attempt to gather his bearings before starting off again, unwilling to give into the hysteria that wanted to take over. Closing his eyes, he took several deep calming breaths, wishing that he had better sense of direction.

Straining his ears, hoping to hear Morgan or Savannah shout that they had found Aiken, he was not surprised when the only sound that greeted him was the incessant buzz of the millions of mosquitoes that had apparently found his blood to be sweet nectar. Running a hand through his dark, short hair in exasperation he let out a frustrated breath. Taking out his cell phone, though he knew it would be futile, he looked for the bars that would indicate he had a signal and would be able to call Garcia to get a fix on his cell and tell him how to get back to Savannah's or at least to some sort of civilization_. Weren't they supposed to have satellite phones so this wouldn't be a problem?_ He'd have to ask Garcia why they hadn't been able to pick up a signal here and briefly wondered whether anyone had attempted to contact Morgan, Reid, or himself. They had been at Savannah's for a couple of hours now. He wondered if the other teams had experienced better luck. Perhaps Aiken had wandered back home or been discovered by one of the other nine teams that had been dispatched throughout Rubin county.

Whether or not the young boy had been found by one of the other teams, Hotch knew that this particular search was over. Morgan, Reid, and he would be returning to their temporary headquarters just as soon as he found his way out of this godforsaken swamp. As much as he hated to admit defeat, he knew when to call it quits. He just hoped he would be able to convince the others that it was time to move on. As much as he was known for his immovability, he felt that if they pushed him even just a little on this particular case, he would give in. It wasn't too much of a stretch for him to imagine his own son – terrified, alone, and lost. He knew he would never give up the search should he be in a similar situation and felt immediate sympathy for Aiken's father. The man had to be going out of him mind.

Steeling himself, he gathered his wits, shaking off the trepidation that threatened to consume him and stood, determined to find his way back. Darkness gathered about him like a cloak. Looking up, he was surprised to see that the sky was rapidly being covered with dark storm clouds. _Great, just what I needed, a rainstorm_, he thought. Fat drops of rain fell lazily on his upturned face. Knowing that it would soon begin to rain in earnest, he hunched his shoulders and headed in the opposite direction he had gone in when he got lost. Having little hope that he would be able to find his way back in the storm, he hoped to at least find a temporary shelter within which to wait it out.

A flash of lightening lit up the swamp and was followed by a clap of thunder. Hotch had counted only two seconds between the flash and thunder. _That was close_. Another bright flash of lightning lit up the swamp with an unearthly green glow and was followed immediately by a loud crash of thunder not even a full second later. The unmistakable roar of a gunshot that followed caused him to shudder, and gave him a sudden sense of direction and a renewed sense of dread. Sprinting toward the echoing sound, Hotch was no longer aware of the branches that pulled at him or bit into the flesh of his face and arms, leaving small precise cuts in their wake, nor of the increased rain that pelted him. He only knew that one of his agents could be in trouble and prayed that it wasn't Reid; that young man had been through enough. As a second gunshot rang out, followed by another lightning bolt and thunder, Hotch readied his own weapon, ignoring the stitch that had developed in his side and ran with all his might, slipping and sliding in the mud.

* * *

As Morgan and Savannah wound their way toward the house, with a little more reluctance than either wanted to admit, gathering clouds caused them to increase their pace. Savannah halted at the edge of the woods, her eyes focused on a spot just beyond the vehicles parked in her drive. Morgan nearly collided with her still form.

"What is it?" He looked at her face, noting that it had gone rigid with alarm. Rain had begun to fall. Following her gaze, he saw what had halted her, and pulled his gun out. Pushing her behind him, he gestured for her to get on the ground and lie still. In spite of the cold rain and the muddied ground, Savannah complied, hoping that the additional vehicle in her driveway did not mean what she feared it did.

Morgan crouched, gun in hand, and approached the suspicious rust-eaten white coupe parked haphazardly in the driveway. Cursing as he slipped in the mud, he regained his footing, steadying his gun. Darkness mounted as he inched his way along the ground which grew increasingly muddy with the swelling rain. Though he hoped the car meant nothing more than a lost motorist, he remained taut and alert for any sudden movement. The look of apprehension that had been on Savannah's face eliminated the possibility that the vehicle belonged to one of her friends. Morgan was prepared for any possibility as he neared the car which was still running. Lying low, he crossed the last few feet on his belly, gun grasped firmly in two hands held out in front of him.

It seemed to Savannah that time had ceased its forward momentum. She watched Morgan inch his way toward the car that had mysteriously appeared in her driveway sometime between the time they had left the garage and headed back into the woods and now and shivered. _How had they not heard the vehicle enter her driveway? The bubbling creek had probably drowned out the sound of the engine. Maybe Aiken had been there the whole time and hadn't heard them drive up, he could've entered the house shortly after they had left to go look for him. He could also have, as Morgan had suggested, fallen into the creek which would now be the size of a small river with the advent of the rain. _

Tears co-mingled with the rain that streamed down Savannah's cheeks at the thought of Aiken's lifeless form being swept away in the swift current.

Wiping at her tears, she resolved to stop crying and be strong, if not for Aiken, then for Steve. Morgan was almost there. Maybe the car was only that of a lost motorist's. It wouldn't be the first time someone had become lost on this stretch of road and had come to her door looking for directions or had simply turned around in her driveway. She had probably just reacted in paranoia because of what had happened to Molly and Braden.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky and eerily illuminated the white coupe that sat between Morgan and the house. A loud peal of thunder followed, temporarily deafening Morgan. Paralyzed with fear Savannah let out a shriek as lightning struck again, alighting a branch above her head. Rolling to her left, she avoided being hit by the flaming branch by mere inches. Her breath came in short panicked gasps as she stared up at the darkness, rain pouring into her eyes. The simultaneous thunder was echoed by a gunshot. Savannah screamed in blind terror. A second gunshot resonated with the beating of her heart. _Where is Morgan?_ Shutting her eyes, Savannah rolled until she collided with something solid. Not daring to open her eyes she succumbed to the darkness that had been threatening to take over since the storm began.

* * *

Picking himself up off the muddy ground for the third time, Hotch finally caught a glimpse of the white fence that surrounded Savannah's field when another flash of lightning lit up the sky. Increasing his speed, he hurdled the fence hoping to make it to the house before lightning struck for the fourth time. He made it to the other side and hurdled the fence again, not daring to enter the barn, lest it fall down around his head. Panic gripped his heart as another gunshot rang out and, twisting his ankle, he fell hard to the ground, and a nail from a loose board lodged itself into his thigh. White hot pain shot through him, temporarily blinding him in its intensity. Gritting his teeth, he dislodged the nail from his thigh and shakily stood as a fourth gunshot echoed in the dark. Swaying on his feet, he headed toward the house, a determined look on his face, his gun held out before him.


	11. Death of a Monster

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Death of a Monster

"...Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." – Frank Herbert

* * *

Death of a monster does not necessarily mean that the monster will not continue to haunt you on even the brightest of days. Ghosts have a way of doing that, sneaking up on you when you least expect it, and terrorizing you with memories of what was and what could've been, and what could yet happen. Living monsters, however, can only be in one place at a time. Though, they too can haunt you and make you suffer in the not knowing. They could, after all, be lurking in the shade of a tall oak tree or hiding behind a curtain in your living room. There is no way to keep tabs on them and one day, they might just grab you from behind.

* * *

"Well, well, well, what have we got here?" A mocking voice startled Reid and caused Aiken to freeze in the young agent's arms. Breath no longer issued forth from the boy's still lips and Reid forced himself to open his eyes and look toward the source of the voice that had sent chills down his spine and caused the traumatized boy to revert to a near catatonic state.

At first, Reid saw Hankel's form swim before his eyes, a menacing glare on his face as he took on the personality of his abusive father, Tobias. He gulped in hysteric breaths as black dots claimed his vision and threatened to overtake him. The only thing that kept him from blacking out was the stiff form of the boy clinging to him with clammy hands. He had still not taken a breath and his lips were turning blue.

Taking a steadying breath, Reid forced himself to look at the man who stood before him once more. This time, he could see that this was not the same monster who had tortured him and still frequently visited him in his nightmares. That man was dead, but the one who stood before him had the same grotesque sneer on his face. Looking more intently, Reid took in the man's appearance, noting the nearly shoulder-length dark brown hair and a nasty looking scar that disfigured the left side of his face. Instinctively, he knew that this was Aiken's monster and that he would do what he could to protect the boy from him.

Unwrapping his arms from around the boy, Reid pried his fingers loose and pushed Aiken behind him. He sighed in relief when he felt the boy take in an unsteady breath as though he had been holding his head underwater for a long time and had finally come up for fresh air in a panic. Aiken hid behind Reid and clung to the young man's waist, burying his face in Reid's shoulder.

"I asked you a question," the man snarled. Reid tore his eyes off Aiken to look once more at their unwanted intruder. Unsure of how to answer the man, Reid simply stared up at the man.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" The man closed the distance between himself and Reid and shoved a gun in the young agent's chest.

"Uh….uh…D..Dr. R..Reid," Reid felt Aiken trembling as the pungent stench of urine wafted up to his nostrils.

Laughing, the man stood and shut the door to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, training his gun on Reid and Aiken, "I can't believe my luck finding the Randall brat here. I was supposed to make it look like the other murders that had taken place, but this one," here he stood and grabbed Aiken by the hair attempting to lift him. Aiken clung tighter to Reid, causing the young agent to bite his lip and grimace in pain, but he forced an arm back behind himself and around the young boy to anchor his grip. Pulling out a clump of hair as he lost his hold on the boy, the man snarled and slapped Reid across the face causing stars to whirl before the young man's eyes. His hold on the boy did not loosen, however. He managed to throw a snarl of his own in his assailant's direction though he had to blink several times to clear his vision.

"This one had to hide on me," a smile darkened the man's face. Reid forced himself to swallow the bile that had threatened its way out of him as the man's gaze swept over Aiken and him. Putting the gun on the bed so that, should he need it, it would be just within reach, he knelt so that he was eye-to-eye with Reid who refused to hold his gaze.

"And I never leave a job undone," the man grasped Reid's chin roughly in his fingers, forcing Reid to look into his eyes. Pure madness danced in his eyes as he shifted his gaze from Reid to the huddled form of Aiken.

"Wh..wha…what job?" Reid cursed himself for stuttering. He wanted, no needed, to appear confident and strong, not only for himself, but for Aiken as well.

The man's eyes riveted onto Reid's once more, "The one that Steve Randall hired me to do."

"Steve Randall hired you?" Reid asked incredulously. _Why had the man hired someone to kill his family? That certainly explained the subtle differences between the other murders and what had happened at the Randall house. Reid was willing to bet that this man had killed before and that he enjoyed it. If he didn't stop him now, he would kill again. No way was he going to get his hands on Aiken._

"Cute, you're getting all indignant on me. I like that," he twisted Reid's chin in his hand and Reid wrenched away, "I plan to have me a bit of fun this time around," he patted Reid on the cheek.

"We're not alone," Reid looked into the man's hard eyes, noting a menacing gleam in them. Gulping, he shakily gestured toward the front of the house, "my friends are out there looking for Aiken and they will be back any moment," at least he silently hoped they would. _How long had it been since they had left?_

"I know; I watched them. They won't be back in time, you're going to be coming with me," he stood, grabbed his gun from the bed and gestured for Reid to stand. Reid held the man's gaze and shook his head, holding his ground, tightening his grip on Aiken.

"I admire your courage Dr. Reid," the man smiled as he slammed the butt of the pistol against Reid's head, drawing blood and causing the young agent to slump forward. Aiken's hold on Reid grew even tighter when he felt the grasp of his protector slacken.

"Let go brat!" The man attempted to pry the boy loose. Aiken fought harder against his assailant and managed to land a bite that etched teeth marks in the man's hand and drew blood. Losing all patience, the man kicked at the boy and smiled in satisfaction when Aiken let out a small whimper as his foot connected with the boy's thigh. Reaching down, he wrenched the boy from Reid and tossed him onto the bed. Turning his attention to Reid, the man hoisted the agent up and laid him on the bed next to the boy.

"Don't you move!" He snarled at the boy who inched closer to Reid, nestling next to the unconscious agent. Aiken nodded his head, tucking a thumb into his mouth, watching with wide eyes as the _monster_ glared at him, the red scar on his face throbbing hideously.


	12. Rain

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Rain

"It is not enough to succeed. Others must fail." Gore Vidal

* * *

Pain pulsated in his temples with each heartbeat as he began to return to consciousness. White light danced before his eyes and he had trouble focusing on the figure that loomed over him.

"Wh…" his mouth felt as though it were stuffed with cotton. For a moment confusion engulfed his afflicted mind. _Where am I? What happened? What…?_ His musings were cut off as a hand roughly covered his mouth temporarily suffocating him, renewing his earlier state of near hysteria. He couldn't remember where he was and momentarily fought against cobwebs of old memories. Try as he might, he could not get his eyes to focus.

"Shh…the brat's asleep," an abrasive voice whispered in his ear, "we don't want to wake him." The vulgar laugh that followed sent tremors through Reid's body. The hand moved from his mouth enabling him to gulp in air that his lungs desperately needed. He felt cold steel under his chin and struggled to remember where he was and what had happened. _How had he ended up with a gun jammed up under his chin?_

Swallowing hard, he gathered up the courage to attempt speech once again, "Who…are…you? What's…going…on?" He ground out hoarsely, all the time aware of how the hand that held the gun against his throat never faltered for an instant. If anything, the gun was pressed harder into his flesh making it difficult for him to catch his breath.

"I said shut up!" Reid could now make out the red face of the man who hovered above him. _Where had he seen that face before?_ His eyes glazed over with confusion as he allowed his gaze to shift away from the intense glare of the man who had him pinned to a bed. To his left he saw a small boy curled up on the same bed and disjointedly became aware that the boy was pressed up tight against his own body. The boy's eyes were screwed tightly shut as if he were trying to shut out what was happening around him and he reeked of sweat and pee. Reid also noticed that the boy's dirt caked face and arms were littered with whip-like abrasions as though he had been running through the woods heedless of tree branches. The boy had one hand tucked securely beneath Reid's back, knotted in his shirt; the thumb of his other hand was fixed tightly in his mouth. Though the boy was breathing, it was shallow and inconsistent.

Shifting his gaze back to his captor, Reid felt a pang behind his eyes and struggled to remain conscious as his captor's face leered back at him, "Get up!" He grabbed Reid's shirt and yanked him from the bed dislodging him from Aiken's hold. The room swam around Reid in complicated swirls and he strained to keep his eyes focused and the contents his stomach where it belonged. As the bile rose, burning his throat, Reid reached out an arm to try and steady himself only to find his arms pin wheeling in the air and the room darkening at the edges of his vision.

Heaving up the contents of his stomach onto his tormentor sent the man into a blind rage. He tossed Reid to the wall where the agent slumped, unconscious. Pointing the gun at the young man's head, his finger twitched on the trigger. He had planned to play around a bit this time, but things weren't working out as he had hoped and now he had putrid vomit down the front of his shirt. It would be better to kill them both and be on his way. The owners of the vehicles he had seen in the drive would be back soon, he should just end this. When the FBI left town, he would be back for Steve. The son of a bitch had gone back on his word. Randall had contracted him about a month ago to kill his wife and sons so he could get the insurance money, but instead of transferring the remainder of the fee to his account like he was supposed to; the man had closed all of his accounts and bought a ticket to the Caribbean a week ago.

Hardy was grateful he had thought to trace Randall's financial transactions. He would complete the job because he was a man of his word and, if he were honest with himself, he did it more for the pleasure of killing than for the money. It made his blood boil though when he thought of how Randall had proven not to be a man of his word. If he couldn't abide one thing, it was a dishonest man. His daddy had taught him to be a man of his word and to honor his commitments, no matter what. He believed everyone else should live by that same code of ethics as well. Randall was going to pay for his dishonesty with his life and Hardy would make sure that he regretted his lack of integrity with every drop of blood that was spilled. His eyes narrowed and took on a murderous glare as he thought of what he would do to Randall and just how long and hard he would make him pay.

First, he had to take care of the man who had lost the entire contents of his stomach on him and the brat who had curled himself into a tight ball on the bed in the absence of his protector. Perhaps he could kill the brat and then take the young man with him, make him pay for losing his lunch on him. Or maybe he could take them both with him. He could bring them back to his place with him and have some fun. He hadn't had anyone over to his place in a long time.

Most of the time he discouraged visitors, his place was isolated, tucked deep into the wilderness of Montana. The only road in and out was a downtrodden gravel patch barely able to accommodate a single vehicle. His home, a simple log cabin, helped him keep the harassing thoughts that often bombarded his afflicted mind when he was in big cities at bay. He could use some companions to keep him company and knew that he would be able to teach them their place with little effort. Yes, he would bring the boys with him.

Having determined his course of action, the man pulled the oblivious Reid up off the floor and balanced his dead weight against his shoulder. He then plucked the boy from the bed and clasped him to himself. Slapping Reid to rouse him, he smiled viciously when he started coming round. Planting the gun at the agent's back, he ushered the confused man forward, supporting him when he began to topple. It was slow moving, but they made it to the front door when a crackle of lightning split the sky and rain began to pour down.

_Shit_, he grabbed the agent around his waist and hauled him into the pouring rain, determined to get to the waiting car as quickly as possible. Another flash of lightning revealed a figure crawling toward his vehicle from the nearby woods. Letting Reid crumple to the muddy road and dropping Aiken, he pulled his gun up and shot at the prone form, missing by mere inches. He smiled when the figure rolled away from where the bullet hit and aimed his gun with practiced certainty. He would not miss a second time.

Wiping the rain from his eyes, Morgan snuck closer to the vehicle, unaware that Reid was being ushered from the house by the owner of the vehicle in question. When lightning struck he looked up and caught sight of two dark shadows in the doorway of Savannah's house. Wiping more water from his eyes, he strained to make out who it was, hoping that it was Hotch and Reid. Hope caught in his throat and he swallowed hard as he realized that while one of the men was indeed Reid, he was being dragged by someone who was clearly not Hotch. Reid did not look well. As lightning struck again, the man hauling Reid let him drop to the ground along with something else that he had been carrying and Morgan felt rock kick up and pepper his face even before he heard the shot of the gun ring out. Rolling to the side, he pulled his own weapon up, readying to take a shot of his own.

_Damn_, the man had picked Reid up and had the young agent plastered against his chest, while he pointed his gun at Morgan. Morgan held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and started to rise to a crouching position when another bullet tore through his bicep. Blood and rain water ran down his arm and the pain nearly toppled him. Determining not to pass out for Reid's sake, Morgan lifted his gun in his uninjured arm and positioned himself behind the car waiting for an opportune moment to take the gun man out. Hoping that Reid would have a reservoir of strength to get away from the man that held him hostage, Morgan ground his teeth against the throbbing of his wound which continued to pour out blood. He needed to staunch the flow lest he lose too much blood and faint. Tearing the sleeve off his shirt, he wrapped it around his injured arm and knotted it, pulling it tight with his teeth, wincing at the sharp stab of pain that it sent through him.

Looking around the edge of the car, he watched as the man pointed his gun at Reid and caught brief snippets of shouts that he was sending Reid's way as the agent bent over to pick something up from the ground. He struggled under the weight nearly taking a nosedive onto the gravel before the man roughly grabbed Reid and shoved him toward one of the vehicles. _Oh shit_, he could not let the man get Reid into one of the FBI's SUVs, steadying himself, he said a prayer and took a shot, knowing that it would be wide of his mark, but hoping that it would cause the man to pause and give Reid an opportunity to get away.

The gunshot briefly registered in Reid's clouded mind. He still could not figure out what was going on and when he shook his head to try and clear it, bile bubbled up in his throat. Darkness threatened to claim him yet again and he struggled to hold onto consciousness. When another gunshot rang out, he heard a triumphant bark of laughter and felt a rough hand pull him to his feet. He had no strength to push away from the arms that entrapped him and could only nod when a harsh whisper tickled his ear, "You got keys for one of these vehicles?" Reid attempted to answer verbally, but found that his voice wouldn't work; instead he nodded, ignoring the nausea that swept over him.

Feeling an intrusive hand reach into his pocket and grope for something, Reid closed his eyes. Momentary panic gripped him and he gasped. The man's lips brushed against his ear, "Like that?" He leered. Having retrieved the keys to the vehicle, he pulled his hand out of Reid's pocket and ordered the tottering man to tell him which vehicle they belonged to. Reid pointed a shaky hand toward one of the SUVs, unsure himself if it were the right one.

"Pick up the brat!" The man ordered. Reid looked at him, utter confusion written on his face. The man violently gestured to a shaking form hunched in upon itself on the ground. Reid bent down, wobbling unsteadily, swallowing down bile once again and fighting off the darkness that threatened to engulf him. Putting his arms around the boy, he pulled him up, stumbling under the boy's weight. The man grabbed Reid's waist and shoved him toward the vehicle that Reid had indicated. Reid obediently staggered toward the SUV and cried out as a sharp rock bit into his thigh like shrapnel. The man pushed him in front of him, holding Reid and the boy cradled in his arms like a shield until they reached the SUV. Fumbling with the keys in one hand and the gun pointed toward the man that had just taken a shot in their direction, Hardy cursed when they didn't immediately work to open the door.

"Are you sure this is the right one?" He questioned the wavering man who nodded warily and gestured to the unlock mechanism on the keychain with a nod of his head. He hit the 'unlock' button and the lights on the vehicle flashed as a light beeping sound ushered forth. Opening the driver's door, he pushed Reid in and shoved him and the boy over to the passenger side of the vehicle, not missing Reid's wince when he pushed on the man's lower back. He would have to remember that it was a tender spot for later. Locking the key into the ignition, he turned the engine over and mud sputtered beneath the tires as he gunned the vehicle, putting the clutch into drive. He picked up speed as he passed his own car. Another bullet shattered the back window as he drove away from Savannah's place.

* * *

Hotch clutched his side when he finally made it to the house and wrenched the back door open. Entering the house, he immediately went to the bedroom. Clenching his jaw in anger, he entered the bedroom and noted the acrid smell of vomit mixed with pee. There was blood with a few strands of brownish hair matted on the wall next to the bed. Reid's cell phone lay abandoned, several feet away. Hotch knelt down to pick it up, ignoring the pain from where the nail had lodged itself in his thigh. Glancing under the bed, he caught a glimpse of Reid's gun. Cursing, he stood, retrieved the gun, and made his way out of the room, through the kitchen and into the living room where he discovered an open front door. Looking out the front door, he visibly deflated when he noticed that Reid's SUV was no longer there. _Damn, I should never have left Reid on his own._ He limped to where the vehicle should have been and looked around, narrowing his eyes when he caught sight of a white coupe. Catching movement near the white car, he aimed his weapon and called out, "FBI, hold it right there or I will shoot."

* * *

Savannah came to, her head throbbing with the beat of the rain against her face. Struggling to a sitting position, she winced when she turned her head too abruptly and pain shot down her spine. _Okay, bad idea, move slowly_, she thought sluggishly. _Where is Morgan? _She blanched when she remembered the gunshots and frantically searched around for the missing man. Momentarily disoriented she got on all fours and waited for the dizziness to pass before she crawled out of the forest. As she crawled through the mud, she shivered wondering what the gunshots could've meant and if Morgan were okay.

When she made her way out of the forest, she saw a white car parked in her drive and the memory of what had happened before she bumped into something and passed out came rushing back to her. Catching sight of Morgan's limp form leaning lopsided against the car, she increased her pace, reaching him just before he slumped completely to the side. Alarmed at the sight of blood leaking through a makeshift bandage on his arm, Savannah shakily pulled the man into a more comfortable position, resting his head in her lap. Knowing that she needed to stop the blood flow and get some help at the same time, she put pressure on the wound with both hands and prayed for help to come.

Maybe Reid would come looking for them as they had been gone longer than they should have, she hoped. Or perhaps Hotch would find them. Shivering with cold and shock, Savannah kept up steady pressure on Morgan's wound, noting that he too was shivering, though he was not conscious.

* * *

Reid clung to the boy he had been ordered to pick up and glanced weakly at the man who had shoved him into the SUV. He knew that he was about to pass out and was still unclear as to what exactly was going on and who the boy in his arms was. The blood trickling from the wound in his leg barely registered as he allowed his head to lie back on the headrest and his eyes to close, blocking out his reeling vision.

A small hand reached tentatively around Reid's back and the boy in his arms resumed his leechlike hold on him. Resting his chin on the boy's head, Reid murmured soft reassurances and rubbed circles into the boy's back to help calm him. The repetitive motion of his actions served to console his own mind as well. Having nearly forgotten about the man who had unceremoniously shoved him into the vehicle moments before, he jumped when a hand clamped on his thigh just above his wound. He turned glazed eyes toward the source of the hand and noticed a gun sitting on the man's lap.

"Place your hand here," he grabbed Reid's hand placing it just above his wound. Picking up the gun he briefly brushed it against Reid's thigh grinning when the injured man flinched. Returning his hand to the steering wheel, he drove down the deserted road. Reid kept his hand in place blotting out the unwanted feeling that the gun brushing the inside of his thigh had elicited. He kept up a vigilant eye on the man who drove and kept a steady hand in place on his thigh until he blacked out completely. Oblivious to the rain that pelted against the windshield making it difficult to see, oblivious to the boy who continued to hold onto him as if he were a lifeline, oblivious to the darkness that gathered outside, oblivious to the blood that continued to seep sluggishly from his injury, and oblivious to the dangerous man who sat next to him eyeing him and Aiken with bloodlust while alternately glancing out of the rain spattered windshield.


	13. Mirage

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Mirage

"The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true." – James Branch Cabell (_The Silver Stallion; 1926)_

* * *

As Savannah cradled the head of a bleeding Morgan in her lap, keeping pressure on his wound, she heard the sound of fast-approaching footsteps. Her heart nearly leapt into her throat as she imagined the person who had shot Morgan stalking his way to them to finish off the unconscious man. Desperate, Savannah attempted in vain to rouse him. Panic gripped her heart when the sound of a loud voice barked out harsh words that were drowned out by thunder_. What had the madman shouted?_ She couldn't make the words out as the loud clap of thunder, the pounding of her heart, and the buffeting rain rendered her partially deaf. Her eyes raked the ground for anything she could use as a makeshift weapon, knowing that whatever she found would provide poor protection at best.

Shakily grasping a thick wooden stick that had been tossed to the ground during the rainstorm, she prepared to use it as a bayonet. Releasing the pressure she had kept on Morgan's wound; her eyes were drawn to a small silver object lying next to Morgan. Loosening her grip on the branch, Savannah hesitantly reached for Morgan's revolver. The cumbersome steal felt cold in her hands and though she was not new to the feel of a firearm, she had never held one with the intent to use it on another human being.

Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat and attempting to steady her nerves, she gently eased Morgan's head to the ground, tensing when he let out a soft moan. She held her breath in anticipation, silently hoping that he would awake and relieve her, but unsteadily let it out again when he remained unaware. Crouching so that the bulk of her body was hidden by the trunk of the car, she slowly crept forward into a position in which she would easily be able to see the approaching figure and aim a shot at him without him being able to get a good shot at her.

Placing both hands around the butt of the gun and holding her arms out in front of her, she peeked around the car and fired off a shot that went wide of her mark, but caused the approaching man to drop to the ground, his weapon held ready to fire off his own shot. Pulling back so that she was fully behind the vehicle, she took several shallow breaths, panic eating away at her.

* * *

Hotch approached the white vehicle, increasingly aware of how little cover he had and how hard it was to see with the rain coming down in sheets around him. Not knowing where Morgan, Savannah, and Reid were also had him nervous. He knew that with the rain, visibility was at a minimum and worried that he might mistakenly shoot one of them.

The gunshot that split the air had him dropping to the ground. Cursing at the lack of back-up and protection, he checked himself for any wounds, grasped his weapon in both hands and prepared to return fire. Looking around for some sort of place of refuge, he discovered that his own vehicle was nearby and inched his way toward it in the mud.

Another shot rang out, hitting the mud a foot away from his face; covering him in the dark liquid. _Shit!_ _That was too close._ Rising half-way to his feet, he ran to the SUV for cover, slipping and sliding over the muddy surface, as another bullet ripped the ground at his heels. _Who the hell was shooting at him?_

Careening, he landed hard on his injured limb sending pain up his left side. Temporarily out of breath, he pulled himself the rest of the way so that he was partially covered by the tire of the SUV. Raising his gun, he took hasty aim and fired off a shot toward his shooter who hid behind the white coupe. Smiling in grim satisfaction, he prayed that he had not just hit one of his own agents or Savannah and that it wasn't one of them who had been shooting at him.

Savannah's forehead beaded with perspiration and her hands shook as she attempted to steady her breathing. She no longer felt the stinging cold of the rain that continued to pelt her exposed skin. Gulping in air, she felt that her lungs would soon explode. Her head pounded and she just wanted to close her eyes and give into the blissful darkness that beckoned her. Instead, she whipped around the corner of the trunk and fired off another shot at the man who was now crawling toward them on his belly, hoping that it would slow his progress or stop him entirely.

A sudden, panicked thought overtook her, W_hat if the approaching figure was Reid or Hotch? What had she just done? Oh God, what if she was shooting at someone who could help? What had he been saying when the clap of thunder drowned out his voice?_ _Surely Reid or Hotch would've identified themselves by now. Was that what the thunder had drowned out? Oh God, what should she do?_

The man started to run and Savannah once again fired at the moving target, watching horrified, as he crashed to the ground. _What had she done?_ _Had she just shot a man? What should she do now? _Trembling with shock, cold, and fear, Savannah never heard the shot that tore through the muscles of her arm, causing her to drop the weapon she held tightly. Staring dumbly at the gun that had fallen from her grasp, Savannah reached for it and recoiled at the sight of blood that pooled from the small circular wound just below her right elbow.

Fascinated by how it seemed to pump out of the small hole with each heartbeat, Savannah watched the blood flow as though it were happening to someone else. Everything around her seemed to slow down. She could see each fat droplet of rain as it hit her and bounced off the surface of her skin as though it were all happening in slow motion. She moved so that her back was resting against the tire of the vehicle and closed her eyes as the world began to spin around her. _Morgan, she should find Morgan and check up on him. He was bleeding. She needed to keep pressure on his wound. _Though he was only a foot from her, it seemed as though he were several yards away when she opened her eyes.

Sluggishly, she made her way to the wounded man and placed his head in her lap once again, wondering at the red that had spread along her own arm and seemed to be dripping down in rivulets. _How had Morgan's blood stained her own arm? _She foggily wondered as she lost consciousness and slumped onto her side, blood dripping steadily from her arm, pooling with Morgan's.

* * *

"Garcia," Rossi's clipped voice cut through the line.

"Yes, Captain my captain," her chipper voice sang over the phone.

Ignoring her attempt at levity, Rossi spoke brusquely, "Have you heard anything from Morgan, Hotch, or Reid? They've been out for half a day looking for Aiken Randall and have not been answering any of our calls. All of the search teams have returned to headquarters, but they're still out. What can you tell me?"

Breathing in sharply, and frowning, Garcia's fingers sped across the keyboard of her computer, "They haven't called to check in?" She questioned.

"No, they haven't," Rossi sounded impatient, "I am wondering if they contacted you and if you can try contacting them."

"No, they haven't called me. I'm tracing their cells now and attempting to call using another line…hmmm….not getting through…let me try something else…no, I'm sorry Rossi, but it appears as though their cells are out of range…hold on, maybe I can track their cars…uhmmm….Reid's car is moving, but Morgan and Hotch's are….hold on….they're…" Garcia continued to work her magic on the BAU's computers.

"I think we know where Hotch and Morgan's vehicles are Garcia, they went to check out a farmhouse that Aiken and his brother used to play at. Where is Reid headed?" Rossi asked slightly puzzled at why Morgan and Hotch would remain at the search site and where they had sent Reid. _Had something happened that required the young agent to return to headquarters without the others?_

"Oh my God," Garcia's voice came out wavering, "Rossi, why would Reid be heading out of state? It looks like he is near the border to Alabama. Tell me you sent him there."

"Garcia, do you think you can get a satellite feed on the SUV?" Rossi asked.

"Already working on it…you've got to be kidding me…no way…" Garcia's voice became increasingly frustrated.

"What is it?"

"It looks like a storm is interfering with the feed. All I'm getting is fuzzy static," Garcia replied.

"Okay, give me the location of his vehicle," Rossi grabbed a legal pad and took a pen out of his pocket.

"He's just outside of Blakely on highway 52; he'll be in Alabama in less than a half an hour," Garcia responded as steadily as she could.

"Right, you keep trying to contact Reid, Hotch, and Morgan. I'll send some people out to Rubin County and to Blakely, though that is forty minutes away. And Garcia?"

"Yes?"

"Keep me informed if Reid heads in another direction."

"Will do," Garcia heard the sound of the dial tone before her voice hit the final 'o' sound. Worried, she attacked the keyboard of her computer with greater vehemence and willed Morgan to pick up his cell.

* * *

Gasping for breath in the driving rain, Hotch waited for another bullet to slice through the torrent, his heart nearly beating through his chest. When no further attack ensued, he cautiously peeked around the tire of the SUV, expecting to hear the roar of another gunshot. None came.

Pulling himself unsteadily to his feet using the body of the vehicle, he placed his gun in front of him and worked his way to the white coupe, swaying slightly with the pain and the lack of adrenaline that had fueled him when he was being shot at. When he drew nearer to the car, he could make out the shape of not one, but two bodies lying in the mud. One lay slightly atop the other. Neither was moving. _Oh shit._

Hotch increased his pace, adrenaline rushing once more through his veins, and reached the coupe in a matter of seconds in spite of his injured leg. _Oh my God what have I done? _Savannah and Morgan lay twisted and bleeding. Kneeling next to the two he frantically searched for a pulse and was relieved when he found that Morgan appeared to have a rather steady pulse, though he did not awaken at his touch. Savannah, however, had an unsteady, racing pulse and blood continued to weep from her wound at an alarming rate. Taking his belt off, he tied it around her arm, just above the elbow, hoping to staunch the flow of blood. He also tore off a sleeve of his shirt and balled it up on the wound, putting pressure on it. Seeing that Morgan's wound also bled, though at a much slower rate in comparison to Savannah's he applied pressure on his wound as well, praying that some sort of help would arrive in time for all three of them.

* * *

"Prentiss," Rossi called from the conference room the team had taken over in their investigation of the string of murders.

"Yes?" She popped her head into the room.

"Would you round up a few of the local police officers and drive out to a farm owned by a Savannah Leigh? Hotch, Morgan, and Reid went there earlier this afternoon and haven't returned. They haven't called to check in and have not answered any of our calls. Garcia says that Hotch and Morgan's vehicles are in the same location, but Reid's is headed toward Alabama. I'm asking the sheriff for help in finding Dr. Reid," Rossi looked up at the brunette agent and saw concern etched on her features.

"Of course I'll go. Let me know when Reid is found," she called out as she rushed to gather a few officers to aid in her search for Morgan and Hotch, wondering why they hadn't come back or called yet. _Had they found Aiken Randall? And why was Reid headed toward Alabama? _She hoped that the young doctor was alright. The team would not be the same without him. Holstering her weapon, she walked into the call room and asked three officers to accompany her.

"What's happened miss?" Officer Burrows asked.

"A few of our agents may be in trouble. They aren't answering their cells and one of them is headed toward Alabama," she headed out the door of the police station, followed by the three officers.

"Well, there's bound to be no cell reception out near Savannah's place," Officer Cody offered, grimacing at the rain that was coming down.

"They should have been back by now," Prentiss insisted as she ran through the rain to her vehicle, waiting for the others to join her. Only Officer Cody did.

"I'd better take a patrol car, you know in case somethin' did happen, we can use the CB to contact the police station," Officer Burrows ducked into his own car, accompanied by Officer Lincoln.

"Not like we don't have our own CBs," Prentiss muttered, shuddering when she realized that Hotch, Morgan, and Reid had not attempted to make contact with them through their CBs.

Letting Officer Burrows take the lead, Prentiss followed. It was slow moving through the rain. She wondered how the others were doing in their attempt to locate Reid.

"Yes?" Rossi said tiredly in the phone. It had been a long day, some members of his team were missing and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Garcia had to say. He was sure that it couldn't be good news.

"Sir…Reid's SUV is at a gas station about eight miles outside of Blakely," Garcia answered with a touch of hope in her voice.

"I'll let the officers know. Thanks Garcia." M_aybe things would turn out okay after all,_ he thought as he hung up the phone.

* * *

Hotch felt drained as the rush of energy that had overtaken him when he first spotted Morgan and Savannah fled. His eyelids grew heavy and his arms began to tremble. His own wound throbbed angrily and the rain continued to pour. He stubbornly refused to give into the urge to rest. He fought

the numbness that went from his shoulders to his fingertips, though it made it hard for him to know whether he was placing enough pressure on the wounds. He knew that if help did not arrive soon, he too would pass out and Morgan and Savannah could bleed to death. Oblivious to the red streak that ran down his thigh, he continued to place pressure on their wounds, swaying with the effort. _He would never forgive himself if either of them died. _


	14. RUN

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

RUN

"By now you've gotten the picture. We can't escape fear. We can only transform it into a companion that accompanies us in all our exciting adventures; it is not an anchor holding us transfixed to one spot." - Susan Jeffers quote from _Feel the Fear…And Do It Anyway _

* * *

Reid sluggishly awoke to the rhythmic swish-swish of wipers working frantically against a rain-spattered windshield and to the warmth of a body pressed tight against his own. He struggled with paralysis associated with waking out of a deep sleep. His arms, legs, eyes and mouth simply wouldn't work and his body felt heavy with the weight of an added body on top of it. Though his mind was alert, his body refused to function. His tongue felt as though it were glued to the roof of his mouth. _When was the last time he had had a drink of water_? _What was that noise? Who was on top of him and how could he work his way from beneath this sweaty burden? Where the hell was he?_

Fighting the surge of panic at the fact that someone was pressed so firmly against him and that he couldn't move, Reid forced himself to calmly take stock of the situation. _His head hurt, he couldn't open his eyes or move even his fingers or toes, his leg felt as though it were on fire, someone was squishing him, and his throat felt as though it were caked with gritty sand. Wherever he was it was dark and…there was movement. Was he in a car? If so, how had he gotten there? _He willed himself to remember what had happened and racked his usually impeccable memory for something, anything that would help him understand what was going on and why he couldn't seem to open his eyes_. Had he taken some sort of drug? Had he been forced to take a drug? He doubted that he would fall back to his old habit; at least he hoped he hadn't. Why couldn't he remember?_

The body pressed painfully into his groin and he was finally able to move. His body jerked with the pain and he moaned, eliciting a deep humorless laugh that seemed to echo around him. Wherever he was, it was a small space. Whoever had him pinned down, moved again, causing the agent to gasp as the pain traveled up his stiff spine. _God his back hurt._

"Waking up?" A gruff voice asked as a rough hand shook his shoulder causing even more pain to erupt in his back. Reid struggled to open his eyes, but they wouldn't cooperate. He allowed his head to tilt to the side and attempted to lift his left arm, but it was pinned down. Swallowing the acidic bile that rose in his throat, he tried his other arm and was relieved when it sluggishly cooperated and he was able to move it about an inch from where it lay useless at his side.

A screeching sound accompanied a sudden bone-jarring stop that propelled Reid forward in the small compartment. His eyes finally popped open as his head smashed into the dashboard and he saw tiny, bright pinpoints of light dance in front of his eyes. The rough hand flung him back and dizziness overwhelmed him. Blinking in an effort to erase the dots that accompanied his dizziness, Reid let his head rest against the seat and took steadying breaths.

The overly bright fluorescent lights of a gas station briefly stole his sight and he shakily raised his right hand to shield his eyes. The weight on him shifted again and much to Reid's relief settled next to him. His left arm, now freed was tingling painfully.

"Don't even think about moving," the gruff voice cautioned. Reid rolled his head to look at the source of the voice and his vision blurred. He didn't think he could go anywhere if he wanted to and though there was a nagging voice at the back of his mind that urged him to flee; he could barely string two coherent thoughts together let alone muster the coordination to move. At the moment it was taking all of his concentration to get his eyes to focus on his captor and his vision was still blurry. Closing his eyes, Reid took a steadying breath and reopened them. Two bitter blue orbs stared back at him and he was covered in a thin spray of spittle as the man snarled in his face, "stay here with the brat! I gotta find us some new wheels and a new shirt thanks to you," he jabbed a finger in Reid's chest punctuating his words.

Swallowing hard Reid closed his eyes and attempted to move away from the angry man, "Oh no you don't pull away from me," the man pulled him forward by his shirt and shook Reid slightly before releasing him aware that even though the gas station had few people due to the heavy downpour, he could possibly be drawing some unwanted attention. Slamming the door of the SUV, he walked into the gas station.

"I gotta pee," a small voice whispered startling Reid. He fought to open his eyes. _Why was this so hard? He felt as though he were swimming against a strong current in a river and drowning. _Slowly blinking in the bright light he attempted to focus on the speaker. Double-vision plagued him, but he could just make out the features of a young boy albeit fuzzily.

Licking his parched lips, Reid strained to speak, his voice coming out as little more than a strangled wheeze, "S..s..sorry," he choked back a cough. The boy tugged at this hand, pulling on Reid insistently as he opened the door. Alarm bells went off in Reid's head. _What would the man with the piercing eyes, rough hand, and gruff voice do if he and the boy left the vehicle? _Pulling back as much as his battered body would allow, Reid attempted to keep the boy from leaving the SUV, "nnn…nn..we ha'fta stay," he managed to get out before his breath was stolen as a fresh wave of pain consumed him and he closed his eyes to stave off the pain.

The boy stopped pulling on his arm and Reid sighed in short-lived relief until he heard the unmistakable sound of someone dropping to the ground and small footsteps making their way across concrete. _Shit_, Reid ignored the pain that knifed through him and clawed his way toward the passenger door. Using the doorframe for support he eased out of the vehicle calling out a raspy, "Wait!" A sense of relief flooded through him when he heard the small footsteps stop and then return. A small hand reached up to him and he caught it on the third attempt.

Instead of jumping into the vehicle, the boy pulled on Reid's arm, dragging him across the parking lot of the gas station which seemed to swirl around him in a myriad of dizzying colors as he allowed the young boy to guide him over the concrete. Dipping and swaying as he walked he leaned gratefully on the corner of the building when they finally reached it, catching his breath until the boy impatiently led him around the corner into sudden darkness. Rain soaked through his thin shirt and trousers as he was no longer protected by the overhang that covered the gas station. Shaking in cold and fear, Reid slumped to the ground.

Lifting his face to the rain, he opened his mouth, assuaging his thirst by swallowing a few greedy mouthfuls of the cool liquid. _How long had the man been gone? When would he be coming back? What would he do when he saw that both the boy and Reid were missing_? Reid forced his battered body to stand as the small hand tugged on him again. One thing Reid knew for sure was that they could not get into the SUV with him again. He didn't think he would survive and he doubted that the little boy with him would either from the way the man had spoken about him. _No, they both had to get away from him, he wondered how much more time they had left before he came out of the gas station and found them missing. Would they have time to make it to the woods he could just make out behind the gas station?_

"What's your name?" He bent down to ask the young boy who had not let go of his hand.

"Aiken," he whispered.

"Aiken, I'm Spencer Reid," his head spun as he straightened, "we need to leave this place; get somewhere safe, do you think you can walk to the woods back there?" He gestured with his free arm, wincing at the pain in his back.

Nodding his head, Aiken smiled tightly and began to lead the way. Stumbling across the pebbled back lot, they painstakingly worked their way toward the shelter of the woods. Looking back periodically, Reid kept placing one foot in front of the other, each step jarring the pain in his back and intensifying the throbbing of his injured leg.

They got halfway to the woods when a gunshot rang out from the gas station behind them, stopping both of their hearts for a beat. Swallowing hard, Reid grasped Aiken's hand more firmly and began running as survival instinct took forefront in his mind and adrenaline kicked in. As confused and lost as he felt, Reid knew beyond a doubt that if they were to have any chance of making it out of this alive and finding help, they would have to make it to the woods before the man, whom he believed had caused him to be in his current state of pain, found them.

Heart jackknifing painfully in his ribs, lungs on fire, and legs burning Reid ran for the woods, Aiken beside him, even as another shot rent the night air and bit at their heels.


	15. A Meddlesome Tree in the Road

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

A Meddlesome Tree in the Road

"I have lost friends, some by death... others through sheer inability to cross the street." – Virginia Woolf, _The Waves _

* * *

Prentiss could barely see through the heavy downpour that assaulted her windshield. She followed Burrows' patrol car through the dirt roads turned muddy with the rain, grateful for the SUV she drove. She wondered how Burrows could navigate the patrol car through the mud without getting stuck and decided she wouldn't be surprised if he ended up in the SUV after all. They were going at a snail's pace which would get them to her team in about thirty minutes. _Maybe Hotch and Morgan had gotten stuck in the mud or had decided to wait out the rain, but why hadn't they tried to reach them using their CBs if that was the case?_

Worry began to tickle the back of her mind, but she quickly brushed it aside. Hotch and Morgan were excellent agents, she had no doubt that everything would be fine when she reached them. They had probably decided to wait the storm out and had been unable to contact them to let them know. Perhaps there wasn't a phone where they were waiting out the storm. Maybe they had found Aiken and were returning him home to his father and would be calling in any moment. She was sure she would just have to turn the SUV around and make her way back to headquarters.

* * *

Blinking rain out of his eyes for what he was sure was about the hundredth time Hotch continued to hold pressure on both Savannah's and Morgan's wounds wondering how something that should have been so simple had gone so wrong. _How had a simple search for a young boy led to a shoot-out in which at least three people had been injured and one agent had gone missing? Things had certainly not gone according to plan and he wondered how he would get help for Savannah and Morgan while continuing to apply pressure to both their wounds._

Moving his vice-like grip from Morgan's wound; he pulled his cell phone from his pocket yet again and willed it to work. _Damn, no signal. Maybe he could load them both into his SUV and bring them to the hospital. _Shaking his head to dispel the rain, Hotch replaced his cell phone and unsteadily rose to his feet, holding Savannah like a child while maintaining pressure on her wound. He took a few teetering steps toward the nearest SUV and a dizziness washed over him. He shook it off and continued to slog through the mud, dipping and swaying under Savannah's slight weight.

Half-way to the SUV, he slipped in the mud and fell to his knees, jarring his own injury. Savannah remained unmoving in his arms. His heart hammered in his chest as pain shot up his leg. Closing his eyes against the sudden pain, he gripped Savannah tighter to his chest and grit his teeth; he somehow managed to straighten up and stood, wavering slightly. Willing his legs to carry him the remaining twenty feet, he lurched forward and nearly toppled. Straightening his back, he continued forward at a painstakingly slow pace. Worry for Savannah and Morgan lending him determination.

* * *

Red taillights jarred Prentiss from her thoughts and she slammed on her brakes, skidding to an abrupt halt in the slick mud inches from the vehicle she had been following. _That was close. _Putting the SUV in park, she steadied her nerves and attempted to get a good view of what had caused Burrows' patrol car to stop so suddenly. The rain-pelted windshield obscured her view. She had no choice but to leave the dry confines of her car to check on Burrows. She couldn't even tell if he was still in the patrol car. Releasing her seatbelt, she readied herself to jump out into the pouring rain when Burrows' face unexpectedly appeared in her rain-streaked window startling her. Catching her breath, she rolled the window down at Burrows' gesture.

"What happened? Did your car get stuck in the mud?" Prentiss questioned, a slight smile pulling at her lips.

"No ma'am, there's a downed tree blocking the road," Burrows frowned apologetically, rain rolling down his face in rivulets, "'fraid we won't be able to reach Savannah's place using this road."

"Is there another way to get to her place?"

"We could try the old forty, but more than likely it's been flooded out, it always floods out in storms," Burrows shrugged his shoulder and looked to the ground.

"Can we move the tree?" Prentiss craned her neck to look around Burrows and the car in front of her, but couldn't get a clear view as the heavy downpour continued to block her vision.

"Not unless we get ourselves a chainsaw and a tractor," Burrows' gaze met her own.

"So, the only road in and out is blocked by a tree," Prentiss clarified.

Burrows nodded, "That about sums it up. I'll radio in the situation and see if we can't get some more manpower out here to move the tree. I'll also check out the status of the old forty, see if it's flooded. I'll have to set up something at the turn off a mile back in case anyone is out in this weather; don't need anyone getting stuck out here," he turned to walk back to his car.

"What would you like me to do?" Prentiss called after him.

Shrugging, Burrows shook his head, "Not much you can do, you should go back to the station."

Rolling her window up, Prentiss blew out a frustrated breath. They were so close and a damn tree blocked their way. Buckling her seatbelt, she backed up and turned the vehicle around to head back to Rossi when she caught a movement in her rearview mirror. Burrows was frantically waving his arms, gesturing for her to stop. Sighing, she stopped the SUV and waited for Burrows to catch up to her before she rolled the window down yet again.

"The CB's not working," he informed her, slightly out of breath from his jog.

"You've got to be kidding me," Prentiss grabbed her own CB and attempted to communicate with Rossi. It was useless, it didn't work. _Damn!_

"Um, Miss," Burrows' gaze slid to the ground once again, "my car's stuck in the mud. May I?" He gestured to the passenger's seat, his face turning red in embarrassment.

Smiling tightly, Prentiss nodded and unlocked the passenger door. He ran around the front of the vehicle and scrambled gratefully into the dry seat, collapsing against it, happy to be out of the rain.

* * *

Hotch reached the SUV panting and out of breath.

Sweat comingled with the rain that ran down his face. Shifting Savannah in his arms so that he could open the door, he removed the pressure from her wound and noted that the bleeding had at least slowed down a little. It had by no means stopped, but it was no longer pumping out of her at an alarming rate either. _Maybe she would be okay after all_, Hotch thought_, now to get her settled and then go back for Morgan_. He wrenched the door open and lifted Savannah onto the seat. Resting his head on the doorjamb for a minute, he gathered what strength he had left and hoisted himself into the vehicle and repositioned her body so that she was slumped up against the passenger door.

A shiver wracked her body and Hotch swallowed a thick knot in his throat. Knowing that it was a less than ideal position for her, Hotch checked her vitals once again, relieved to find a pulse, albeit erratic, he lowered himself from the cab to head back for Morgan when something occurred to him, _The CB, why hadn't he thought to use the CB? _Hauling himself back into the cab of the vehicle, he grabbed the CB. Switching it on, he grasped the small black communication tool tighter and pressed the button. A high-pitched whine emanated from the would be life-line and Hotch let out an angry curse. He quickly adjusted the tuner, hoping for a clear channel, and was met only with static. Closing his eyes, he let out a frustrated growl and dropped the defunct CB, slamming his fist into the dashboard.

_Okay, not going to help matters_, he thought as he shook out his smarting hand. Sighing heavily, he jumped to the ground and grimaced as blinding pain radiated from the injury in his thigh. Leaning against the car door, he took an unsteady breath and straightened out his aching frame. Wearily, he gathered himself for the walk back to his wounded friend and took a faltering step.

* * *

Prentiss had never been more thankful for the four-wheel drive capacity of her SUV than she was at this moment. She glanced over at Burrows, noting that he was soaked and that his legs were covered in mud. He was rubbing his hands together in an attempt to restore some warmth to them and leaned gratefully toward the heat coming from the vents. Prentiss turned the heat to full blast and Burrows flashed her an appreciative smile.

"So," she turned to face the shivering man.

"Well, we have a couple of options," Burrows began, "we could go check on the old forty and see if it is flooded, that would take us round about a half an hour or we could head back to the station and see about getting a chainsaw and a tractor to move the tree."

"My team is back there and could be in trouble," Prentiss began.

"We could also get out and walk the rest of the way to Savannah's," Burrows grimaced, "that would take about fifteen, twenty minutes, provided that we don't meet any other obstacles along the way."

Sighing, Prentiss started back toward the station realizing that it would take more time, but was the best option they had at the moment. Getting the road cleared would be the best thing to do right now.

* * *

He wanted to run and even envisioned himself doing so, but much to his chagrin, he moved in an uncharacteristically jerky manner, covering the distance from the SUV to the coupe in what felt like slow-motion. Easing himself next to Morgan, his heart skipped a beat as he took in the man's blanched pallor. He put trembling fingers to the agent's neck and searched for a pulse. When he didn't find one, Hotch felt the beginnings of panic, but quickly pushed it aside. Panicking would not help Morgan. Steeling himself, he dug his stiff fingers further into the groove just below Morgan's jaw and waited, counting to ten. His breath came out in a rush of relief when he felt the briefest flutter of a heartbeat beneath his cold fingertips. He then turned his attention to Morgan's chest and when he couldn't determine whether the man was breathing or not, he tilted Morgan's head up and placed his ear over his mouth. Relief washed over him when hot breath tickled his ear. Slumping next to the injured man, Hotch took a moment to regain his composure and ready himself to tote Morgan back to the SUV.

Squatting behind Morgan, Hotch placed his hands beneath the unconscious agent's armpits and stiffly rose, crossing his arms around the man's chest. Morgan's head lolled and bounced as Hotch pulled him up so that he had a better grip. He hauled the agent backwards. It was slow work and he had to stop every few feet to reposition his arms as Morgan slid. Morgan's feet dragged behind him in the mud, leaving a warbled trail in their wake.

Hotch's thigh screamed in protest at the extra strain that had been placed upon it, but he ground his teeth and determinedly dragged Morgan along, shoulders slouched and brows furrowed with the effort. His breath came out in ardent puffs and he had to stoop awkwardly to accommodate the burden of the slightly shorter, yet burlier agent.

_Step, stop, lift…step, stop, reposition… breathe…had the bleeding from Morgan's wound increased? Step, stop, reposition… step, stop, lift… breathe…yes, it is definitely bleeding more now that I started moving him…step, stop, lift…step, stop, reposition… breathe…come on Morgan ,hang in there, you can do it…step, stop, reposition… step, stop, lift… breathe….we're almost there, any minute now…step, stop, lift… step, stop, reposition… breathe…is it getting darker? Step, stop, reposition… step, stop, lift… breathe…damn, it is getting darker, what time is it anyway? Step, stop, lift…step, stop, reposition…breathe…How long have we been here? Step, stop, reposition…step, stop, lift…breathe…_

He bumped gracelessly into the side of the black SUV before he realized that he had made it there. Removing one of his arms from around Morgan, he reached for the handle and tried to ease the door open. Morgan dangled at an awkward angle from his other arm and Hotch apologetically let the man slump to the muddy ground so that he could turn around and use both hands to open the door. He then, tiredly grasped Morgan beneath his armpits once again and hoisted him up against his chest, just below his chin.

Skirting around so that Morgan was facing the SUV, Hotch pushed him forward and shoved him up onto the seat. He managed to wedge himself in between the steering wheel and the senseless man who now lay face down on the front seat. Taking a deep breath, Hotch turned Morgan over and carefully positioned him upright next to Savannah who looked eerily white in the darkness that had gathered around them. The bleeding from the wound below her elbow was now down to a trickle. Watching her closely, Hotch was relieved to see that she was breathing. He hastily placed his fingers below her chin, next to her throat and felt a moment of relief at the slow and steady pulse. He then turned his attention to Morgan and placed additional pressure on his wound as he settled himself into the driver's seat and shut the door.

Leaning his head back against the seat for a moment, Hotch sat there; keeping pressure on Morgan's wound, he allowed his eyes to close for a few moments and focused on breathing. His heart rate began to return to a more normal pace and the pain in his thigh subsided. _What the hell had happened? How had this day become such a nightmare? How had he ended up in a shootout in which both Morgan and Savannah had been wounded? Hadn't they heard him call out to them? Why had they been shooting at him in the first place? How did Reid fit into all of this? Where had that white coupe come from?_

Rubbing a hand exhaustedly over his face, Hotch mused that he really needed a shave. Opening his eyes, he looked over at his two charges and was surprised to see Morgan's brown eyes staring at him as the man struggled to place his own hand over the wound that Hotch was applying pressure to. Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His eyes closed with the effort and he licked his lips to try his voice once more.

"Hotch…" the scratchy voice came out as little more than a whisper, "what happened?" His eyes screwed up in pain and his breathing started coming out in desperate gasps.

"Morgan, you need to calm down. You and Savannah have both been shot, but you are going to be okay. I'm taking you to the hospital now," Hotch kept his voice calm and spoke straightforward, with confidence, he didn't mention that he was the one responsible for their current state. That would come out later, when he was sure that both Morgan and Savannah would be alright.

Morgan's eyes opened and sought out Hotch's. His hand continued to flail in his attempt to replace Hotch's over his own wound. Hotch placed the injured man's hand over the bloodied bandage, "I need you to keep pressure on this, can you do that?" Hotch placed his hand over Morgan's and waited until the man nodded, "Good," he smiled, "good." He then removed his hand and fished the keys out of his pocket. Surprised that his hands were steady, Hotch started the engine and turned the heat up to full blast.

"Hotch," Morgan's voice was little more than a murmur.

"Yes?" Hotch concentrated on the road before him as he put the vehicle in motion. Relief flooded through him as he realized that the rain seemed to be lessening though the road was filled with water.

"You okay?"

The question startled him, "Yes. I'm fine. It's you and Savannah who've been injured."

"Oh, it's just," Morgan paused, "well, your shirt is streaked with blood and your thigh," another pause, "looks like it's been ripped open."

"I'm fine," Hotch kept his eyes on the flooded road, unwilling to admit that he too had suffered any pain.

"Hotch," Morgan sounded spent.

"Yes?" Hotch answered teresly.

"You really should do something about that thigh," Morgan's voice was thick with fatigue and his eyes closed, but his hand remained on his wound, applying the necessary pressure.

"I'll be fine Morgan," Hotch said a little more testily than intended.

"Whatever you say," Morgan muttered under his breath as he maneuvered the hand of his injured arm to check out Hotch's thigh.

"Let it be," Hotch gently brushed Morgan's arm away.

"You're bleeding all over the seat of my SUV," Morgan's voice sounded strained, yet determined.

"It's the FBI's SUV and I will be fine. Keep that pressure up on your arm and stop moving it around," Hotch chastised, not moving his eyes from the road.

Morgan opened his eyes and watched his boss for a moment. The man looked stark white. He was covered in streaks of watered-down blood from his chest down. His jacket was missing and one of the sleeves of his white shirt had been torn off completely. His thigh looked as though it had been dug into by some vicious one-clawed cat and it was inflamed. Blood flowed sluggishly from the jagged wound.

Narrowing his eyes, Morgan recognized a sheen of sweat on the older agent's face and ascertained that he probably had a low-grade fever. Hotch was one of the most unflappable people he had ever met and Morgan knew that he would keep going until they had all reached safety or until his body gave out entirely. Morgan hoped that the former thought would prevail.

"Morgan," Hotch gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, "do you know what happened to Reid?"

"Reid?" Morgan struggled to gain access to his memory as exhaustion threatened to drag him back down to blissful sleep. The effort of applying pressure to his wound, worrying about Hotch, and staying awake was becoming too much for him.

"Yes, where is Reid?" Hotch chanced a glance at Morgan and was alarmed to find that the man had slumped further down in the seat and his eyes were once again closed.

"Reid? He's um," Morgan's face crumpled in confusion, "he… I tried to stop him… Hotch, a man took him and that kid we were looking for," Morgan's eyes popped open and he sat straighter in his seat as he remembered what had happened, "he shot me and took Reid, he looked like he had been hurt."

"Wait a minute," Hotch once again glanced at Morgan, "someone shot you and took Reid and Aiken?"

"Yes," Morgan had paled considerably thinking about the younger agent. He hadn't looked well at all. As a matter of fact, he had reminded Morgan of some battered rag doll. _Was he even still alive? He shuddered thinking about why that man had taken his friend and what he intended to do with Reid and Aiken. Would he just kill and dump them both now that he had gotten away? Would they recover Reid's bruised and battered body haphazardly discarded along some back road? Or would the young agent face something far worse at the hands of this unknown assailant?_

"Which direction did they head in?" Hotch asked.

"The same one we are going in, I think," Morgan closed his eyes once again. The pain in his bicep had flared when he had straightened up in his seat and he was beginning to lose his fight for consciousness as the SUV came to a skidding stop and he was thrown into the dashboard.


	16. The Hiding Place

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter for full disclaimer. Additionally, I do not own the characters from the shows, "The Munsters" (created, produced and written by Joe Connelly and Bob Mosher) and "The Addams Family" (originally created by cartoonist Charles Addams; episodes were written by Nat Perrin).

**Warning: **Disturbing images.

* * *

The Hiding Place

"Nothing terrible has ever happened except in our thinking. Reality is always good, even in situations that seem like nightmares. The story we tell is the only nightmare that we have lived." – Byron Katie, _Loving What Is_

* * *

_Just a few more steps and they would be in the safety of the woods. Just a few more steps. Just a few more steps._ Panting, Reid faltered and nearly fell flat on his face, but Aiken's firm grip on his hand reminded him that he wasn't alone and he righted himself, continuing his lurching gait toward the woods. _What a fitting image, Frankenstein's monster – Lurch – wait, that wasn't Frankenstein that was "The Addams Family" wasn't it? Morticia, now that was one hot monster of a chick,_ Reid attempted to grin, but a sharp spasm of pain twisted his lips into what amounted to no more than a mere ghost of a grimace. _He was so not going to make it; the image of the tantalizing Morticia Addams beckoning him onward with her sultry smile was not nearly enough incentive to keep him going. Now, maybe if it were Morticia Addams and Marilyn Munster waiting for him...surely he could manage to go a few more feet into their awaiting arms. Almost there, just keep putting one foot in front of the other, Marilyn and Morticia are waiting, you can't keep them waiting, you should never keep a lady waiting. _

_Mom had allowed him to watch the old reruns on TV, none of the newer TV shows, but the oldies had been okay. She would sometimes even watch an episode with him making inane comments, pointing out how handsome Gomez was or how pretty Morticia was in spite of her name. Here he was, Lurch in the flesh, making a comeback after forty-two years, of course he was a little stiff, it's been forty-two years after all, give a guy a break. _A slightly desperate sounding gurgle that he had meant to be a laugh bubbled forth from his lips and Aiken shot an urgent look at him, pulling on the wavering agent's arm, driving him to continue forward. Reid moved forward, carried on by his earlier momentum and pure survival instinct. _Now ain't that something different_? He mused as he made his way on limbs that felt strangely foreign to him and as though they really belonged to someone else. _They were betraying him after all, not following even his simplest of requests without balking. Traitors! They reeled as though they were the legs of some drunken sailor on a storm-swept sea rather than those of a young genius FBI agent. _

And still, the promise of the protection of the woods continued to taunt him, silver and white, silver and white the trees flashed in front of him (_always in front of him_) as streaks of lightning illuminated them. His eyes cringed at the brightness of the sudden light as it lit up the woods, tormenting his throbbing head. _Shouldn't we have already reached the woods by now?_ He felt as though he had run the course of the Boston Marathon on crippled legs. _Should be running through that red-tape at the finish line any moment now…any moment now…"Damn it Reid…you gotta make it to through that finish line." When had Morgan arrived? Was he too standing at the finish line with Morticia and Marilyn?_

_He should stop running, he was getting nowhere. This was total madness, all part of some freakish nightmare in which, he, the victim ran from some faceless monster and ran and ran, getting absolutely nowhere. It had no doubt been brought on by too many late nights and his work for the BAU. Who needed nightmares when reality was terrifying enough? _

_Maybe if he stopped running he would wake up in the sanctity of his apartment, heart racing from the vivid nightmare, sweat pooling in his sheets. He was no stranger to nightmares and knew the routine. He'd wake up chilled, shivering, lungs agonizing to bring in the tepid air until his fevered mind took in the familiar surroundings of his threadbare apartment and reasoned with him, daring him to remember where he was and to believe that it had all been some harmless nightmare, barely worth remembering the next day. He would then strive against all odds to avoid remembering what he couldn't, thanks to his faultless memory, forget. All of the nightmares that he had experienced from early childhood on, he was able to recall in masterful detail as though they had each just been dreamt afresh. His mind was a curse at the worst of times and a trap at the best. _

_Oh no, maybe this wasn't a nightmare after all, maybe he was on some whacked out drug-induced trip. That would more than explain his strange ramblings, disjointed memories, and self-imposed hallucinations that continued to call to him, "Spencer Reid, just a little further, you can do it. Come, my pet." _

_Up close, Morticia looked even more beautiful; her pale face nearly glowing as lightning once again struck, illuminating it, a stark contrast to the macabre black she wore and the dark trees that surrounded her. Where had Marilyn gone? Where was Morgan? Reid twisted around looking for them. He had been sure that he had heard the older agent's voice pleading with him to finish the race. No, wait, that was part of his nightmare in which he had been running. He was no longer running. Morgan had faded into the darkness of the woods as the nightmare fled Reid's tormented mind and clouded memories of blue eyes and rough, unkind hands assaulted him._

_Where had the faceless monster, whose fiery blue eyes haunted his memory even if he couldn't recall meeting the master of those eyes, gone? Those eyes had pierced him to his very soul and made him return to the piss-in-your-pants- fear he had felt under Hankel's tutelage. They had been cold, calculating, and had held the promise of torture. The monster's hard sapphire-eyes had drilled into his brown ones, and as though pinned by them, he had been unable to move. _

Overcome by the dislocated images, Reid stopped. Gasping for air, he sunk to the wet earth, unable to go any further.

* * *

"Spencer!" A child's voice, hushed, yet strained, finally broke through to the beleaguered agent, pulling him out of his stupor. Reid shivered violently at the recollection of those horrid eyes and finally began to come to his senses when a small hand tugged desperately on his own, pulling him off of his knees.

"Aiken?" Reid's voice trembled in spite of his best effort to make it sound stronger than he felt.

"Spencer, the monster who killed my mom and Braden is coming for us. We have to hide," Aiken's eyes were wide with fear and his teeth chattered in the cold rain. Even as Aiken said the words, Reid could hear footsteps at the edge of the woods, drawing nearer to where they stood motionless. The man had not fired his weapon again, but Reid knew that it was just a matter of time before he would find them if they didn't move soon. If it came to that, Reid would almost prefer to have the man shoot them rather than take them alive. He didn't think he could survive another torture session and didn't really want to find out if he could. He doubted that Aiken would live much longer if the man were to catch up to them. He had noticed the bloodthirsty looks the man had cast toward the young boy and wondered what he had planned for the both of them. _Why hadn't the man killed them at the house? What did he have in store for them? _He prayed to god neither of them would have to find out.

"Come out; come out, wherever you are!" The warbled, sing-song voice was carried to them on the wind.

Fighting down sickness and darkness that threatened to overcome him, Reid squeezed Aiken's hand and they headed away from the voice. It was too dark for them to really see where they were going and they stumbled over roots and got scratched by branches, but they kept walking steadily away from the edge of the woods and into the heart of it.

"I know you're in here! You'd best come out before I find you! If you come to me, I promise I won't be mad! If you don't come out on your own, well Dr. Reid, let's just say that your little friend won't be coming out at all," the wind and rain distorted the voice, but it sounded hauntingly close. Reid's heart hammered in his chest, the beat pulsing in his neck, drowning him in adrenaline. It was hard to breathe. They needed to keep moving, find a place to hide. _Why couldn't this have just been a nightmare after all? Why did Aiken have to be dragged into this mess? Wait a minute! Yes, yes…_

"Aiken, listen to me," Reid stopped walking and knelt down so that he was eye-level with the boy, "you've got to find a place to hide and stay there. I don't think I can go much further on my leg and I'm so dizzy I can't think straight. If you hide, he won't be able to find you and you can go get help when he leaves with me."

"No, no, no," Aiken trembled, backing away from Reid, tears coursed down his cheeks as he remembered the blood-stained kitchen. _He didn't want to hide again. The monster would come and he would kill Spencer and Aiken would be left alone with the blood again. He didn't want to be alone, even if that meant going back with the monster. Even if it meant that the monster would get him and kill him, spilling his blood all over the wet ground._

"Shh, Aiken, it'll be alright, I promise. You need to run and hide. I'll be okay," Reid's voice cracked, "I promise."

"No you won't. He'll come a…and you'll bleed and I'll be all alone. Please don't make me go. You hide with me," Aiken pleaded, shaking his head back-and-forth furiously. Throwing his arms around Reid's neck, he clung to the agent, sobbing.

"Aiken," Reid pried at the vice-like grip, "Aiken, you've got to let go. You have to run and hide. Everything will be okay, I promise."

Still the boy clung to him; refusing to let go of his hold on the man who was there when no one else was. The only one he could trust, now that Braden was gone and Savannah had not been there to help him. He would not let him go, not even the threat of the monster coming back could make him. He felt safe with Spencer._ Spencer had made the pain go away. He had held him and rocked him until the horrible pictures of his mom and Braden's blood left him. Spencer was his protector. He would not let the monster take him away from him, ever._

Aiken's hot tears graced Reid's neck and he bit back anguished tears of his own. _Great Reid, going from tripped out iconic-television diva phantasmagoria to flaked- out wimp in the time it takes to blink is probably a big flashing neon sign of mental instability. He'd end up in the psych ward if this continued. That is if he lived through this at all. Aiken would not be in this situation if Morgan was here instead of him. He would have already gotten Aiken to safety; shit, he would've never been in this situation to begin with. Morgan would've managed to get away from this nameless bastard. He wouldn't be here, kneeling weakly in the mud, close to tears. No, Morgan was infinitely stronger than he was; hell, everyone on his team was stronger, better equipped to handle such situations. Prentiss would've escaped by now. Hotch would've remained stoic, his resolve impenetrable. Rossi would've been successful in returning Aiken to his father. JJ, she would've been able to get a handle on the situation and would've had the kid tucked safely in bed by now. It was just Aiken's bad luck that he had to be stuck with the most feeble, ineffectual member of the BAU. _

_You are such a coward Spencer Reid… _SNAP! Reid's head whipped up, eyes wide as he looked around for the source of the disturbance. CRACK! Dire thoughts scattered, Reid listened, heart racing, breath stilled.

"Ready or not here I come!"

Another sharp CRACK rang out as a nearby branch exploded dispassionately. Aiken's sobs quieted instantaneously as his breath hitched in his chest. Reid's heart missed a beat…then another; blinking, he held his breath until his heart resumed its panic-stricken pattern: ..…. threatening to explode.

Knowing he should push Aiken away and force him to run, but not having the strength to do so, he clutched the boy closer and stood on shaky legs. A spasm tore through him as his back protested the extra weight. Grunting and feeling ridiculously like Lurch, Reid stumbled through the trees, not caring where his feet were taking him as long as it was away from the man who was hunting them. His eyes, bright with unshed tears of self-loathing, were alert for a place in which he and Aiken could hide.

His faltering footsteps appeared to be echoed footfall for footfall as he fled from the man who hunted them. Stopping behind a large oak tree that hid his slight form, Reid waited for a count of five; listening. Not hearing the tell-tale sound of branches breaking, he put a cautious foot forward when a sudden SNAP to his left stilled him. His foot hovered just above the ground as he hadn't even planted it yet. Closing his eyes, wishing he could be invisible, he dared not move. He was afraid to look to his left. _Afraid that those damnable blue eyes would be staring back at him in a face twisted with a sinister grin. Afraid that Morgan would be standing there, a look of disappointment on his normally congenial features. Afraid that Morticia and Marilyn would be looking on with disgust at his pathetic escape attempt. _Even if they were figments of his deluded mind, he didn't think he could handle letting them down, so he kept his eyes closed and concentrated on the difficult task of breathing.

"_Reid, c'mon man, you gotta get a move on," Morgan's disembodied voice cajoled, "he's gaining on you, there's no time for you to stand around. You're strong, you can do this."_

"No, Morgan, I can't. I'm not strong like you, or Hotch, or Prentiss, or Rossi, or JJ. I'm…" Reid's whispered appeal to his teammate trailed off as he opened his eyes. No one was there, not even the recent ghosts of his frantic mind's creation.

Allowing his foot to make contact with the solid earth, he pushed forward again, concentrating on the simple act of walking. When faced with a difficult, overwhelming situation in which there appeared to be no way out, it was best to break things down into the simplest of actions possible to survive. In his case the simplest actions involved breathing and walking. He didn't need to escape; he needed to breathe and walk. Breathe and put one foot in front of the other. Breathe and take another step.

"I can see you," the taunt came from somewhere behind Reid.

Quickening his pace, Reid swallowed back a scream as red-hot pain accompanied his body-jarring movements over the uneven ground. He could hear the other man's footsteps, slower than his own creeping up on them, and he fought all the more with his injured body to move faster. Encumbered by the added weight of Aiken, he knew he would be unable to keep up a reasonable pace for long. _Surrender might be the best option. The man had said he would kill Aiken if we didn't come to him. Maybe another opportunity to escape will present itself later and I'll be able to think more clearly._

"You can run from me, but you can't hide!"

A luminescent bolt of lightning electrified the air surrounding them, illuminating Reid and Aiken. Reid felt the heat of the electricity and turning, without slowing his pace, caught a glimpse of the man bent on recapturing him and the young boy he carried. There was an instant where their eyes met in the supernatural light. The calculating gleam in the older man's eyes terrified Reid, but he forced himself to turn his head and continue his flight. The rain, which had become no more than a mere trickle during their escape, came pounding down on them once again with renewed force. Reid kept up his facsimile of running, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the madman who was chasing him. Hoping that the curtain of rain would help conceal him, Reid turned to the right in an attempt to lose the man. With any luck the man would continue on the same forward path and Reid would find a shelter for him and Aiken before the man realized that he had been duped.

His legs threatened to give out and his lungs felt as though he were breathing in wooden splinters. His back ached and Reid bemoaned his weakness. He wanted to keep running with Aiken in his arms and had he been Morgan or Hotch or Rossi, maybe even Prentiss, he would have been able to, but he wasn't any of them. He was, truth be told, taxed well beyond his limits and had been for quite some time. It would be mind-boggling for him to escape even if he were to be rid of the added weight of the small boy.

"Aiken," Reid whispered into the boy's ear, "if I let you down, can you run?"

A reluctant nod of the head was all that Reid got in response and when Reid stooped to lower the boy to the ground, he refused to let go of his fierce hold around the agent's neck. If anything, he clung more fervently, unwilling to lose his only anchor to reality.

"Aiken, I can't run with you in my arms," Reid implored, "I need you to get down."

"Promise you won't leave me?" Came the muffled reply. Aiken's head was still buried in the fabric of Reid's blood-stained, white shirt and his tears had left warm, salty spots in their wake.

"Aiken, look at me," Reid pulled the boy's head back to look into his troubled eyes, "I will never leave you," he promised fiercely, even as his heart niggled at him, warning him that he may be too weak to carry out his oath to the boy.

Reid felt the absence of the warmth that had been Aiken's arms around his neck keenly when the boy released his stubborn hold on him. He nearly collected the boy back into his arms, loath to lose the warm assurance, but settled instead for grasping his small, sure hand in his own bigger, yet uncertain one. Straightening up, his muscles once again protesting against the abuse, he and Aiken set off at a slight, listing jog.

"Look for a place to hide," Reid urged Aiken. The boy nodded his head vigorously and swiveled his head back and forth as quick as their pace allowed. Reid too searched for a place that would conceal them, not only from the fanatic who still pursued them, but also from the persistent rain. Now that it had renewed its vigor, it continued on in a steady tattooing stream.

A brutish, strangled scream, muted by the pounding of the rain reached their ears from somewhere behind them. It was difficult to gauge whether the guttural cry had been borne of pain or was a frustrated cry of anguish. _Had they succeed in thwarting the deviant's pursuit? Had he been felled by a tree or entangled his ankle in a root?_ Reid allowed a brief smile to adorn his lips as he and Aiken continued their tottering trek through the woods toward the unknown. Knowing what pursued them, caused him to embrace the uncertainty that lay ahead with a recklessness contrary to his nature. The thought of getting away was the only one that he allowed to occupy his suddenly cognizant mind, that and keeping his promise, however rashly made, to Aiken.

_We can do this_, Reid thought positively for the first time in what felt like ages. A surge of energy filled him with renewed strength and he put on a burst of speed that brought him and Aiken further away from their enraged tracker and closer to what he felt assured was freedom and shelter.

_Yes, we can do this_, he thought as he took another step forward in anticipation and came crashing down as his foot slipped on a moss covered root. Stars, small and bright, stabbed at him from behind his eyes as his head reeled with the swift pain that exploded from his right knee which had made solid contact with a rock embedded in the ground. Tears spilled shamefully from eyes squinted shut in pain and he released his hold on Aiken's hand. Incredibly, the boy had not fallen. He placed a panicked hand on Reid's trembling shoulder, afraid that if he let go of his guardian the man would disappear and he'd have to face the monster alone.

When he was finally able to open his eyes and move his leg, he looked down at the bleeding gash that spread across his kneecap and painfully swallowed the thick lump that had formed in his throat. The gash looked ghastly against his all too pale skin and the knee was already beginning to swell. Placing a shaky hand on the tree that had knocked him down, he stood, tremors wracking his pummeled body. Dizziness and severe pain threatened to return him to the ground when he attempted to straighten his injured knee. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the coarse bark of the tree and took in several shallow breaths, willing the pain to cease. _How long had he and Aiken been here? Too long. Surely their pursuer would catch up to them and their escape would be stopped prematurely._

Insistent tugging on his shirt caused Reid to open his eyes once again. He gazed down through eyes glazed with pain. He couldn't form the question, _What do you want?_ Aiken stood there, tugging on his shirt and pointing at something beyond where Reid could see. He was saying something, but the agent couldn't hear anything, not even the rain, through the throbbing of his heart. _Was this it for them? Had they been found? Would they be once again at the mercy of a madman bent on their destruction?_ Reid found that he no longer cared and he almost welcomed the return to captivity, knowing that he wouldn't last much longer anyway.

_Maybe if he was lucky, the assassin would shoot him outright. It was too much for him, he wasn't cut out for any of this._ _He was a profiler, not a babysitter or a hostage negotiator. He wasn't supposed to be held captive by predators. None of this had been in his job description. True, there were dangers to being a profiler, but surely this went beyond what anyone in his chosen profession should be forced to handle. He would gladly embrace the darkness, sweet bliss of death, if only for a reprieve from this pain and confusion. He was so tired and his body was no longer really listening to him. His sanity was slowly abandoning him. Yes, when their captor came for them, he would welcome a quick end to his pain and temporary insanity with the aid of a well-aimed bullet. But no, he had made a promise; he couldn't leave Aiken like that. No, he would have to convince the gun-wielding psycho to spare him. _His heart clenched in fear at the thought of what the man would yet do to him. _He didn't like it, but he couldn't leave Aiken alone with that man. He had made a promise and he would be damned if he went back on it._

* * *

Aiken was afraid when Spencer had asked him to get down, sure that he would want him to leave him and try to find a place to hide on his own. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't leave Spencer ever again.

But when Spencer had promised that he would never leave him, he believed him and he made sure that his hand gripped the older man's securely. He did not want to be left behind. That had happened once when he and his brother had been playing at Savannah's with their cousins. They had been playing soldiers and it had started to rain. Aiken was afraid because the rain was so hard and he couldn't see where Savannah's house was. Braden told him to follow him and he had taken his brother's hand. Braden started to run, so they could get out of the rain faster, but Aiken's foot got caught in a hole and he fell; his hand left Braden's.

Thinking his little brother had let go of his hand so that he could run more easily and that he was following him, Braden raced to the shelter of Savannah's house. He kept running, oblivious to Aiken's cry of pain and his calls for Braden to wait. Aiken tried to keep up with his brother, but his ankle had been twisted and he couldn't run. He soon lost sight of Braden in the rain. He was lost and alone, the rain was falling all around him, he couldn't hold back the hated tears (he wasn't a baby). Much as he wanted to, he couldn't be brave, and so he sat on the ground, angry at Braden for leaving him and mad at himself for being a baby, hot tears coursing down his cheeks, ankle throbbing, he was afraid. He sat there crying until Savannah had come and picked him up, cradling him in her arms, hushing his cries with a lilting song. He had felt like such a baby and Braden had promised that it would never happen again, that he would always make sure his little brother was safe and that he would never leave him behind.

_His brother had lied. He had left him behind and now he was all alone. No, Aiken was not going to lose Spencer too; he would make sure the man kept his promise. Even if it meant that they both ended up with the monster. If he had Spencer with him, everything would be okay. He made him feel safe. He felt sure that the man would not let anything bad happen to him. Hadn't he already protected him from the monster? _

When Spencer fell and let go of Aiken's hand, he had panicked at first. It was happening again. The man had told him to find a place to hide, like Braden and his mom had urged him to do when the monster with the scar had entered their home. When Spencer didn't get up, Aiken put his hand on the man's shoulder urging him to get up because he had found a place to hide. He had found it just before Spencer had fallen and had been about to point out the small entrance to a cave, but didn't get the chance to when the man had crashed hard to his knees.

He didn't respond to Aiken's shout that he had found a place to hide and the boy saw tears running down the man's face. He didn't think that grown men cried and always hated it when he cried because it meant that he was acting like a baby. He had never seen his dad cry and his dad had said that big boys didn't cry whenever he had cried. Every time he thought he had seen Braden crying, his big brother would wipe at his eyes and say that he had gotten something in them. _Maybe it was okay to cry when someone was hurt really badly, _he reasoned when he caught a glimpse of the ugly cut on the man's knee.

He was relieved when Spencer stood and had resumed his excited cries of, "I found a place to hide! I found a place to hide!" Spencer didn't seem to be listening to him and it looked like the man was going to fall over again. Aiken did the only thing he could think of when the terrifying sound of someone thrashing through the woods, entirely too close to them, reached his ears. He took the agent by the hand and forcefully pulled the man with him toward the shelter of the cave, hoping that they would make it before the monster came and caught them.

Spencer swayed and fell, but Aiken did not release his hold on the man's hand. He pulled the man along on his knees, knowing that it would be painful for him. He worried that the man might scold him for hurting him further, but the anticipation of getting them both to safety overcame his worry and he led the man mercilessly to the mouth of the shelter, wincing at the whimpers that came whenever Spencer's knee hit a fallen branch or embedded rock. When they were at the entrance of the cave, he bit his lip in concentration, and maneuvered around so that he was able to push the agent into the cave and then crawled in next to him. It was a tight fit and dark, but it was dry as the rain did not come in through the entrance. Knowing that he would have to find a way to hide the entrance from the eyes of the man who wanted to hurt them, he hesitantly left his newfound haven and quickly gathered several leafy branches, ears and eyes alert for the monster. Entering the cave once again, he placed the braches in front of them so they covered the entrance.

"It's going to be okay, I found us a place to hide," he soothed as he hugged the older man to himself. Both of them shivered with the cold and with unhidden fear.

Reid was barely aware of moving as he crawled across the rough ground. In his agitated mind, he was back with Hankel and the man was dragging him along, oblivious to his captive's pain. He had no mercy and Reid wasn't expecting any to be thrown his way. He was hoping the torture would end soon and didn't really care how it would end, with a bullet to the head or another drug-filled syringe, he wasn't overly picky. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep; he wanted to drift away on a pain-free cloud. Anything would be better than the sharp pain that rocked its way through his body each time his wounded knee came in contact with the debris that littered the ground. _Where was Hankel taking him now? What further torture did he have in mind for him? Hadn't he put him through enough? Wasn't his continued survival proof enough for the deranged man that he deserved a chance to live or if not that, to be left alone for a few moments? A few moments of peace, that is all he craved._

When the torturous journey stopped and Reid finally opened his eyes, he discovered himself in a very dark place. It was as though he hadn't opened his eyes at all. He attempted to look around, but found the place too cramped. Not a fan of cramped places, he panicked, his arm slamming into a rock wall as he strove to leave the tiny, confined space. Biting back a cry of pain, he didn't want to give Hankel the pleasure of knowing that he had caused him discomfort, he held his breath for five, then ten seconds and released it. Considerably calmer, he let his eyes get adjusted to the darkness of the small space. It was like a miniature cave. _Why would Hankel confine him in here? What could the man possibly do to him in such a small area? He wouldn't be able to fit inside with him, would he? _Reid shivered at the very thought of the hulking form of Hankel shoving himself in next to him or, more likely on top of him. _He could crush him in here or he could close up the entrance and leave him there, alone and in the dark, for an interminable amount of time until he became mad with sensory deprivation. Reid had read about that, how it had driven people insane. Not that he wasn't already slowly slipping into insanity's beckoning embrace. He almost welcomed its bitter kiss. It would be a welcome reprieve from the constant thinking of his often overtaxed mind._

In spite of his best efforts at composing himself, he couldn't seem to stop the shivering and belatedly realized that it wasn't due to fear or pain, but rather a cold that seemed seeped into the very marrow of his bones. _How long had he been sitting in this cave? It seemed like hours, but surely he had been left by Hankel for only a few minutes._

The sound of shuffling feet had Reid lowering his head in anticipation of a blow that never came. Instead, he felt a body scramble into the small space next to him. Lifting his head, he watched with detached curiosity, his eyes now accustomed to the darkness so as to notice the entrance that he had been unable to free himself through. He watched as something was carefully placed in front of the entrance, blocking out what little light had been allowed to filter into the dark place. He then tensed when arms drew themselves around him, hugging him, pulling his shivering body closer. _What was Hankel doing? _

The whispered mantra of, "It's going to be okay, I found us a place to hide," finally broke through Reid's confusion and he remembered that Hankel was no longer alive. He had died at Reid's own hand. He remembered that he and his team had been searching for a boy named Aiken. He remembered that Aiken and he had been captured by the man who had killed the boy's family and that, though they had escaped, he was hunting for them. He remembered, vaguely, promising to stay with the boy and urging him to look for a place to hide.

"Wha….what's that?" Reid croaked.

"I found a place to hide," Aiken whispered, a tinge of pride colored his voice.

"Well done Aiken," Reid whispered back, hugging the boy closer to him. His body ached, his head screamed in pain, and violent shivers racked both of them, but they drew heat from each other and now had dry shelter thanks to Aiken. He hoped that the man, who searched for them, would not discover where they hid.

Hardy cursed as he stopped once again, listening for the sounds of the brat and the agent he pursued. He had been so angry when he discovered that Dr. Reid and the Randall brat had left the vehicle. He had entered the gas station to replace his puke-stained shirt, grab some food and water, and find a new set of wheels. Not wishing to leave any witnesses behind, he had shot the clerk, taken the cash to make it look like a simple robbery had occurred, found the man's car keys, and then destroyed the video tape which had diligently recorded his actions. He had felt confident that Dr. Reid and Aiken were sufficiently terrified of him that they would not dare disobey his orders. So, when he walked calmly out to the SUV, his sneer confidently in place to further ensure his authority over the two, only to discover that they were no longer there, he had acted in blind range, shooting off his gun. When he had calmed down, he easily discovered where they were headed and started after them. _How the hell had they gotten so far_? He aimed a careful shot at Dr. Reid not wanting to kill the man just yet. The bullet hit the ground at his feet and Hardy watched as the two continued toward the woods at a quicker pace. If he were to run in full force, he would be able to overtake them in just a few minutes.

Instead, he increased his pace to a jog, following them at a distance, having made up his mind to hunt them down like the deer he and his uncle had hunted when he was younger. He remembered the thrill of the hunt and how nothing else could quite replicate that. He remembered with a buzz of excitement the fear of the animals they hunted that permeated the air. It was a pleasure he had not been able to engage in for several years, not having felt up to it since his uncle's untimely death ten years ago. It had been deemed a hunting accident, but Hardy knew the truth. Those men had not mistaken his uncle for a deer, they had murdered him and he had taken delight in returning the favor, visiting pain on their families. Gutting all five of them in the end. After that, he hadn't felt much like hunting, until now.

What had started out as a simple hired kill had turned out to be so much more for Hardy. At first he had been annoyed that the youngest boy had somehow managed to hide from him and survive, but now he saw it as providence. If he hadn't been forced to look for the boy to finish the job, he would never have met Dr. Reid. Hardy could sense an innocence and vulnerability in the young agent that was a rare commodity nowadays, especially amongst those in the FBI, and he had been intrigued by it.

Although Hardy had wanted to kill the Randall brat immediately, he had held back for some reason. As he pursued the two in their flight through the woods, he realized that he had seen potential in the boy that had escaped him at the time because he had seen him simply as a mistake. It was a mistake that he had been left alive, nothing more, but as Hardy ran through the woods, he began to see that the escape of Randall's youngest son had not been a mistake after all. It had been a gift for him.

He would enjoy hunting Dr. Reid and the brat. Slowing his pace to give the two a head start, to be fair, he waited in the rain, watching as they made their way into the woods. Counting to ten, as slowly as the thrill of the chase would allow him, he waited before entering the woods himself. He sniffed the air, savoring the odor of fear, knowing in the end that they would surrender. He was hunting them, not to kill them, well maybe the brat, but to recapture them. He would punish the doctor for disobeying him; make sure that it never happened again. Dr. Reid would know what pain was, and Hardy was going to make sure that he also knew what a pleasure pain could be.

The two were easy to follow, especially when the rain had begun to lessen. It had been like following after a lame bear. Hardly any sport to it at all. That's why he called out to them, eliciting more fear, increasing his enjoyment and their pace. He didn't want it to be too easy and he wanted to make sure that Dr. Reid would be so exhausted that he wouldn't be able to put up a fight. He would be much easier to manipulate that way and, if he let the Randall brat live, he knew he could manipulate the man through threat of pain to the kid as well. Grinning maliciously when he spotted the two just in front of him, he called out confidently, "You can run from me, but you can't hide!"

That's when Mother Nature turned on him. Lightning had struck and, though he read abject terror in the doctor's eyes when their eyes met, the rain had begun to pour again in earnest and his ability to see his prey was diminished. He let out an anguished cry that was whipped away by the wind and ran after the two, stumbling along the ground. He tripped on a root and fell. Cursing his stupidity, he picked himself up and went after his quarry.

He was no longer enjoying the hunt and would find great joy in taking out his anger on Dr. Reid. It was, after all, the doctor's fault that it had taken him so long in the convenience store in the first place. It had taken him quite some time to convince the clerk to take off his shirt and give it to him to replace the one Dr. Reid had dirtied, he could have killed him first, but then the shirt would've been stained with blood – that wouldn't do him any good. Ending the infuriating man's life afterwards had brought a thin smile to his lips, but the triumph of that moment had been short lived when he returned to the SUV to find his two hostages gone. Yes, Dr. Reid would know the extent of his anger tonight and the Randall brat would suffer as well.

Sighing in relief when the rain began to wane again, he scanned the area and easily found the faltering agent and the boy. They had gotten further ahead than he would have thought possible for the agent with his injuries. Perhaps he had been a bit overconfident and had underestimated the two. That would no longer happen. He started running, desirous to end this pursuit. A cry of anguish was rent from his lips as he tripped over a root and fell hard, landing on his hands, sending a shaft of pain from his wrists to his shoulders. Tears smarted his eyes, he picked himself up and continued his pursuit in heightened fury and anticipation of overcoming his prey, though he could no longer see them, he thought he could hear them in the distance.

A twig snapped mere feet from where Reid and Aiken huddled together in their temporary shelter. Reid held his breath, hoping that they would not be discovered in their hideaway. He hoped that Aiken's cover was not easily spotted as an obvious hiding place. Another twig snapped, closer still. His heart ceased beating as he continued to listen, anticipating being discovered.

"I know you're around here somewhere," he was practically on top of them now. They were sure to be discovered. Reid could practically see the man pacing in front of their covered den even though his eyes were closed in fear of the unearthing. He could hear the man's heavy breathing as though it were in his ear. Twigs continued to snap beneath his feet as he searched the area for them. Reid was on tether hooks waiting for their shelter to be torn apart by their would-be captor. His heart beat so loud and fierce in his chest that he felt sure that it could be heard and that it would be what gave them away in the end.

"Come out and I won't kill you," came the silky promise. It seemed as though it were a bit further from their hideaway, yet they could still hear the heavy footsteps. Would their hideout remain hidden after all?

He and Aiken sat huddled together in silence, barely daring to breath for what felt like hours, until they no longer heard twigs breaking under footsteps. Until they could no longer hear the man's labored breathing as though he were sitting right next to them. And when all that they could hear was the occasional pattering of intermittent raindrops, they resumed breathing normally, but made no move to exit their shelter. They would wait awhile; give their pursuer time to move further away from where they hid. Then they would head back to the gas station and Reid would radio for help, provided that the man did not double back when he couldn't find them. Reid wouldn't allow himself to worry about that, though; it would paralyze him. Instead, he concentrated on getting his heart to beat at a normal pace and trying to keep warm. Trying to conserve energy he didn't think he had, he allowed his body to relax as much as it could in the cramped space and felt Aiken's body relax against his own.

"We'll wait here a little bit longer and then head back to the gas station and to my vehicle," Reid whispered.

"'Kay," came Aiken's shivering response.

"We got a dead clerk, trashed till, and ruined tape here," Peters called into the station.

"Looks like he's been dead for no mor'n two, three hours," the officer answered. They had come to the station as per FBI request and had come upon a grisly murder scene. The clerk had been stripped of his shirt and then shot pointblank in the head. The SUV appeared to have been abandoned, the passenger door remained open and there was a small amount of blood on the mat. It also reeked of pee which had caused Peters to wrinkle his nose in disgust.

_Just what the hell had happened here? It was going to take several hours to secure the crime scene and it was still raining. Would this day never end?_ It had started at six am for the officer and it looked like it would continue on until the weary hours of the next morning as they needed every officer due to the storm. Gesturing for his partner, Carter, to join him, he secured one end of the yellow tape cordoning off the crime scene while Carter secured the other end. They'd have to wait at least a half an hour for the coroner to arrive because the storm had taken out a bridge on his road. _He was so not going to hear the end of this from his wife Peg who already chastised him for how little time he spent at home with her and the boys. Maybe if the missing boy and FBI agent were recovered in of all this mess, his wife's nagging would turn to praise. He would be a hero in the eyes of his wife, his boys, hell, the entire town. _Rubbing his fatigued eyes, he waited underneath the awning of the gas station, outside of the secured crime scene next to his partner, hoping that the coroner and the rest of the boys on homicide would turn up sooner rather than later. The dead body and eerie light coming from the interior light of the SUV (they had left everything as it had been found) were giving him the creeps.


	17. Superman

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Superman

"Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope." – Dale Carnegie

* * *

"Morgan!" Hotch grabbed the agent's shoulder and pulled him back from the dashboard that his head had made contact with when he had been forced to slam on the brakes. _What the hell is a tree doing in the middle of the road? Could this day get any worse? Oh God, I hope not._

"Crap!" Morgan's forehead already had a lump forming and the agent was out cold. He was going to have one hell of a headache when he woke up. Glancing beyond Morgan, Hotch took in a sharp breath at the sight of Savannah slumped against the door at a completely unnatural angle. Closing his eyes, he took a shaky breath and reached out, placing two fingers tentatively on her neck. His breath returned to him in a tremulous exhale when he felt a faint pulse beneath his cold fingertips. Opening his eyes, he assessed Savannah's condition, Had_ she gotten even paler since they had left her place just a few minutes ago? Was she going to make it? _He felt her stir beneath his light touch.

Savannah felt heavy, like her whole body had been weighted down with a lead blanket. She grappled with fleeting consciousness, the effort causing her to become slightly nauseous. It had suddenly become an urgent necessity for her to open her eyes, though she did not know why. Something terrible had happened, but what it was had completely escaped her. She couldn't remember a damn thing, just knew that her arm hurt like hell and she felt sicker than she had in a long time.

_This is worse than that time Becky and I drank those sailors under the table, _she moaned. She could still remember how her stomach had punished her the next day, leaving her stranded on the cold tile of her bathroom floor for hours. Her head had hammered relentlessly in chastisement, pulsating in mockery of her one night out. She had vowed never to do that again, no matter how much her best friend begged her to, insisting that Savannah needed to get out more and meet some men.

She didn't know how Becky did it on an almost weekly basis and still managed to go to work the next day. Her friend was one of a kind that was for sure. Savannah's body, on the other hand, couldn't handle that kind of abuse on a regular basis. She had convinced Becky that once a month was more her speed and had even gotten her friend to join a health club on the guise of meeting men. That's where Becky had met Todd and now the two were getting married this spring. Ladies night out had gone by the wayside and Savannah had spent the past few weeks helping her best friend plan her wedding.

_So what the hell happened? Why do I feel like I've just had a run in with a rogue tractor? _Savannah couldn't recall a night out with her best friend, but knew that for her to feel this shitty, she probably had alcohol poisoning of some kind, which meant that she had to get up and get the poison out of her system. That was the only explanation her sluggish mind could come up with. _Why won't my eyes open? _

Panic gripped her heart as she implored her rebellious eyes to cooperate. _What was that? _A distant, feeble rumble reached her deafened ears as though through a thick wall. The timbre was deep and gave Savannah the impression that it was laced with concern and desperation.

"That's it, time to wake up," Hotch softly urged as he watched Savannah's eyes flutter beneath pallid eyelids which seemed glued shut. He had carefully repositioned her so that her neck was properly aligned, hoping that he had done so in time so that when she regained consciousness it would not be too stiff or painful. He waited, gently rubbing her cheek with his hand, willing her to wake. Getting no response, he again spoke to her, "Savannah, you need to wake up. Aiken needs you…I…need you… to…be…okay."

Her wound was no longer bleeding through the bandage, but he knew that it would need medical condition and that his own wound, which throbbed impatiently as though to remind him of its existence, needed attention as well. Morgan's wound had stopped its own attempt to bleed out, but now the young man also had a head injury to add to his list of ailments. Hotch could not fail them.

Wishing yet again that he had not had to slam on the brakes in the first place, he attempted in vain to rouse Savannah and Morgan once more before throwing the vehicle into reverse and turning around to head back to Savannah's. He had been so sure that Savannah had been about to waken and was disappointed when she remained unresponsive. He would attempt to get them to safety using the only other road out of her place. Knowing that time was of the essence, he drove as quickly as he could in the downpour which had thankfully lessened. Maybe nature had decided to grace them with a reprieve in the weather.

As he drove the short distance back to Savannah's Hotch pulled his cell phone out and threw it onto the seat when he saw the lack of bars that still registered on it. Maybe when the rain stopped altogether he would regain service. _Yeah and maybe pigs would fly too, _he snorted.

By the time he had reached Savannah's place, the rain had nearly completely subsided and Hotch stopped the SUV, retrieving the cell phone, praying for even a weak signal.

Savannah really wanted to open her eyes. The voice that beckoned her had indicated it was important for her to do so. There was something she needed to remember and someone she needed to help. If only her body and mind would cooperate.

Someone was touching her cheek. It didn't frighten her, but the removal of the hand was disconcerting. She wanted to tell whoever it was to return the comforting hand, wishing she could pull it back to her. She fought even harder to open her eyes and was rewarded when her eyes opened a slit, allowing a gray sliver of light to seep in beneath her thick eyelashes. Her eyelids closed once more and she painstakingly opened them, this time allowing a little more light in before they slid shut. The simple act was exhausting, but she strove to open them afresh and was rewarded as she blinked in grayish light, unseeing, but victorious nonetheless. A soft, contented sigh escaped her lips as the world around her began to come into a blurry focus. _Where am I?_ She didn't recognize her surroundings and alarm caused her heart to flip-flop in her chest.

A half-sob from Savannah had Hotch discarding the useless cell phone once more. His eyes swept over to the agitated woman and he noted that her eyes had finally opened. She was gulping, drowning in panic and Hotch reached over to grasp her shoulder, offering her an anchor on which to focus.

"Savannah," Hotch spoke, hoping to dispel her confusion. "Savannah, you're safe. You're in Agent Morgan's SUV, I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner."

"Wh…what happened?" Savannah whispered as she lost the battle to keep her eyes open.

Relief surged through Hotch as he answered, "You and Agent Morgan have been injured. I'm going to get you both to a hospital. Do you know how to get to the hospital from your place? Which is the quickest route?" He prayed that it wasn't the one blocked by the tree and that she would remain conscious long enough to answer.

Savannah wanted to open her eyes again. She wanted to raise her hand and indicate the direction Agent Hotchner should take as she was flooded with memories of a missing Aiken, Morgan getting shot, and the reason her own arm ached, but her eyes and arm refused to obey the simple directive. Licking her dry lips, she drew in a deep breath and in a scratchy voice answered, "You need to take the old forty, but it's probably flooded in this storm, so you'll have to take the alternative route." The effort of talking made her want to give into the darkness which offered her rest, but she fought for control of her beleaguered mind and was rewarded when a surge of adrenaline flooded through her.

Yes! Her eyes had opened; she smiled in triumph, but frowned when she caught the troubled look that Agent Hotchner cast in her direction. _Why did he look so defeated? He did not strike her as a man easily discouraged when she had met him earlier that day._

"What?" She managed to croak out.

"There's a tree blocking the alternative route," Hotch's voice cracked uncharacteristically and he swallowed the feeling of despair that threatened to overtake him. He had to get Savannah and Morgan medical help, no matter what it took. He would not fail them. Maybe the SUV would be able to wade through the flooded road. The FBI had chosen these vehicles as they could easily manipulate rough terrain. Surely they could ford through a flooded back country road. A look of determination replaced the momentary discouragement and he put the vehicle into gear, heading for the old forty.

"How far away is the hospital?"

"About an hour's drive from here," Savannah offered apologetically. Her grandfather had chosen this place because it was so far from what he had disdainfully called _civilization_. He had wanted to live in a place free of crowds, traffic, and pollution. She had often argued with him about how unsafe the location was given the flooding that storms caused and how far away from the hospital he was, but he had stubbornly insisted upon living there until he died.

Closing his eyes in irritation, Hotch smiled grimly, gripping the steering wheel tightly and resolving to make it to the hospital in record time, if he had to get out and push the damn vehicle himself. Perhaps the lull in rain would cause the flooding to disperse and they would breeze through the roads as though it had never rained.

_So far, so good_, he thought to himself as he had driven a quarter of a mile and so far there had been no flooding. Just as he decided that maybe their luck had suddenly taken a turn for the better, lightning lit the sky and rain burst forth as though a cosmic bucket had been overturned right atop them. He slowed his driving to a snail's pace, windshield wipers frantically swishing, losing the battle with the hammering rain.

* * *

"There's a downed tree on the route to Savannah's and the old forty is flooded. I'd like to take some men and a saw back to remove the tree so we can get through to her place and see what's happening," Officer Burrows approached the chief, Prentiss close behind.

"We ain't got much help to spare, why don't you take Cooper and see how much damage you two can do to that tree. Peters and Carter have called for backup at the Food & Gas, apparently someone shot the clerk. They also came across an abandoned SUV. Could be the one that the FBI was tracking," the chief didn't look up from what he was doing as he strapped on his weapon and got ready to go on patrol. The storm had really taken a toll. He had every man working and had even called over to Union County for extra help; they were only able to spare a few men as they too were dealing with the effects of the inclement weather.

"I'll help too," Prentiss offered.

"Your boss said to give you this message. He left to check on the SUV at the Food & Gas," Chief Anderson handed a handwritten note to Prentiss as he strode from the office.

Stilling the protest that Rossi was not her boss, on her tongue, she grabbed the note and quickly read it. Rossi wanted her to head over to the Food & Gas. Crushing the note in her hand, she made her way back out to her vehicle.

"Good luck with that tree," she smiled at Burrows as they both left the building, "let me know what you find."

"Will do ma'am," Burrows tipped his hat at her as he stepped into his vehicle.

* * *

"Yep, this is Dr. Reid's SUV," Rossi nodded at the officer who had stepped away from the shelter of the building to meet him when he had arrived. "Do you know what happened here?"

"No more than you do. Like I said, we left everything as we found it. The clerk inside was shot point blank in the head, most likely after his shirt was removed. You wanna go take a look at him? The coroner should be here in about fifteen minutes or so. He wasn't too happy when we woke him, but he's a good guy," Peters was more than happy to have someone else take over the crime scene.

"Yeah, I'll take a look," Rossi moved reluctantly from the SUV, noting the blood on the seat and floorboard and the acrid smell that emanated from the interior. He hoped Dr. Reid and Aiken were still alive, "Hey, did you find any keys on the clerk?"

"What?" Peters gave the agent a quizzical look, "Uh, no, we didn't really look for any keys though. The blood kind of made Carter a bit queasy and I know enough not to mess with a homicide before the coroner has been here. I think the kid, Billy Johnson's, truck is still here though," he said looking at his notes as he gestured toward the only other vehicle, a red truck, in the lot.

Nodding his head, Rossi pulled his cell phone out and dialed Garcia, giving her an update on his location and asking her for any information she could gather about the area surrounding the Food & Gas as well as the clerk, Billy Johnson, hoping that the red truck was his. It would make it much more difficult for them to find Dr. Reid and Aiken if they had been abducted by the killer and taken away in another vehicle.

It was difficult to cut through the thick tree in the pouring rain and to haul the heavy pieces away, but Burrows and Cooper were persistent and they soon had enough of the tree cleared away for their vehicle to drive through. They would worry about getting the rest of the road cleared after the storm had passed. For now, they set up orange cones and temporary barriers indicating the road was closed before driving through.

* * *

Water swirled around the wheels of the SUV; Hotch had to fight to keep the vehicle on the road as the current of the flooded road was surprisingly strong. He inched along, determined to make it through the flooded road and to the hospital, sure that the road wouldn't be flooded for more than a mile. He could barely see out of the windshield as it was pelted with rain, every few feet the water became deeper, swallowing more of the SUV in its muddy grasp.

"I think we need to turn around," Savannah's voice was unnerving in its calm assertiveness and Hotch peered cautiously in her direction, not wanting to take his eyes off the road for too long, afraid that he would forget where it was as he no longer had the ditches on either side to indicate where the road ended. She was staring straight ahead, a look of trepidation on her face.

"Hotch, I think she's right," Morgan's weak voice startled the driver. _When had he regained consciousness?_

"I have to get you two to the hospital," Hotch trained his eyes back on the road directly in front of him, or rather the water that had covered the road directly in front of him.

"There's no road up ahead," Morgan asserted, "look."

He had been so focused on looking at what lay just a few feet ahead of them that he had missed the danger that lie further ahead. Just a couple more feet and they would be trapped in a flood that was spread out like a lake. He stopped the vehicle; the tires were nearly completely covered in the muddy-brown water that swirled around them. Hotch quickly threw the vehicle into reverse and his heart stilled for a moment as it refused to cooperate. He knew that the water would gather around them as the rain continued to fall in torrents and that they would be washed away into the trees if he didn't get it moving again.

"Relax Hotch," Morgan was watching him, he placed a hand on his arm and both men let out a relieved breath when the vehicle lurched backward. Flooring the pedal, he kept it in reverse, looking in the rearview mirror, though it did him little good in the rain. Water confined them on all sides. Hotch couldn't remember where they had first encountered the flooding and hoped that the SUV wouldn't stall before they made it out of the dangerous current that kept threatening to pull the vehicle off course.

As they sped along in reverse, Hotch opened the window and wrenched around so that he could look behind them. He drove one-handed. Pelted with rain, he wiped at his face. His eyes stung as water dripped into them. The rain seemed to be unnatural, coming from all directions as it hit the water and bounced up into his face.

The wheel jerked sideways in his one-handed grip and he was forced to pull his head back in and place both hands on the wheel to right it. The vehicle swerved dangerously toward the edge of the road and everything seemed to slow down into moments measured by seconds. He pictured the SUV being swept off of the road and into the forest, lodging itself against a tree, and steered into the slide that the vehicle seemed to want to make, trying to right it as one might do on an icy patch of road. Nothing happened. The wheel locked. The tires slid further toward the bank that would send them headlong into the trees. Easing off the gas, Hotch kept the wheel at its awkward angle, not fighting for control of it anymore. They were coasting backwards now. Hotch wasn't sure how it had happened, maybe the momentum of the vehicle had been aided by the flood waters, but the tires stayed on the road and though they nearly careened into the ditch, they remained on the road as the tires regained their tenuous hold on the asphalt.

Daring to push lightly on the gas pedal, Hotch maneuvered the SUV further onto the safety of the road. His muscles were so taut that they were ready to snap. He ached all over, but they were back on the road and that is all that mattered.

They crept along at a pace that an old lady would have been loath to imitate. It was an eternity before they were out of the grip of the flooded road and back to something that Hotch recognized. He continued in reverse until the tires were no longer covered in water and then executed a careful Y-turn and headed back toward Savannah's. They would have to take shelter there until the storm passed. He would have to take care of Savannah and Morgan the best he could with the first aid supplies they had on hand. He remembered the 'Superman' band aid that Savannah had placed on Reid's hand and absently wondered if it was still there. _Where was Superman when you needed him? Wait a minute, he was Superman. God help them all._

"Nice work boss," Morgan smiled briefly before a wince of pain crossed his face, "what you smiling about? We ain't out of the woods yet."

"Nothing," Hotch looked over at Morgan and wished that they had never been called out to Georgia. Parking the SUV once again in Savannah's yard, he took a deep breath before stepping out of the vehicle into the rain.

* * *

"No one's here," Cooper called to Burrows from the living room.

"Looks like there was some kind of struggle in the bedroom," Burrows swept the room with a careful eye and noted the blood smeared on the wall. _Where was everyone? Just what the hell had happened here?_

Burrows joined Cooper in the living room. Scrutinizing that room carefully he came up with nothing out of the ordinary, other than the front door being left wide open in the middle of a rainstorm. The only rooms that looked as though something had gone amiss in were the kitchen and the bedroom. Milk had been spilled in the kitchen, the glass pitcher which had held it had been shattered and the bedroom held evidence of a bloody struggle. The people they were looking for were long gone. He hoped none of them were dead.

"Guess we ought to head back to the station," Burrows' hand flew to grip his gun at the sound of a vehicle approaching. He motioned for Cooper to cover him as he approached the door which still stood wide open. Peering out cautiously, he relaxed his grip on his gun as he saw that it was an SUV. He motioned for Cooper to stand down and headed out the front door toward the parked vehicle as an individual stepped out into the rain.

He approached the vehicle with caution, calling out, "Agent Morgan? Agent Reid? Agent Hotchner?"

Getting no response, he resumed the grip on his revolver, pulling it out of its holster and pointing it ahead of him as he took cover on the front porch.

"This is Officer Burrows! Please identify yourself!" His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he remembered the blood on the bedroom wall. Cooper had taken cover on the other side of Savannah's railing on her porch. He had also drawn his weapon and had it pointed before him.

"Identify yourself!" He called out once again, "Or I'll shoot!" He had never had to shoot anyone in his career, had come close to it once, but had never actually had to pull the trigger. He hoped that he wouldn't have to do so now. Perhaps the rain had made it impossible for the figure standing by the SUV to hear him. He could barely see the man as it was.

The man made no move to identify himself. Burrows watched as he reached into the cab and hesitated a moment before taking a shot in warning. He didn't want to accidentally shoot an FBI agent, but also did not want to be at the mercy of some killer on a rampage. He had no idea whether the man had heard him or not and did not know whether he was reaching into the vehicle for a weapon or an umbrella.

The gunshot sounded unusually loud in his ears and Burrows swallowed against the dryness in his throat as some of the wood of the porch rained down on him. In his haste to fire the shot, he hadn't given much thought as to where he had been shooting; taking care only that he wouldn't accidentally shoot the man he was trying to warn.

Determining that the rain was not going to ease anytime soon, Hotch reached into the cab to help Morgan out of the vehicle when a gunshot rang out causing him to drop to the floor of the SUV. _What the hell?_

"Was that a gunshot?" Morgan asked.

"Yes, do you think it could be the man who took Reid?" Hotch asked from his uncomfortable position on the floor.

"Did you see Reid's SUV when you pulled in?"

"No."

"Did you see any other vehicles when you pulled in?"

"No."

"Maybe the shooter parked on the other side of the garage," Savannah suggested.

"Great," Hotch raised himself up to a sitting position.

"Sounded kind of like a warning shot," Morgan mused.

"Suppose it could have been. Hold tight, I'm going to go check it out," Hotch tucked his gun into his holster and left the vehicle, hands raised over his head, knowing that if his voice didn't carry through the pounding of the rain at least the universal, 'I surrender', gesture would still be clearly seen.

"He's coming out of the SUV," Cooper said, tension evident in his voice. The hand holding his gun shook.

"Lower your weapon, he has his hands raised," Burrows moved from his cover and lowered his weapon slightly as he watched the figure that approached them slowly. He approached cautiously as well. He was still nervous.

"Agent Morgan?" He called out.

"Agent Reid?" There was a slight shake of the head in response. Burrows was able to make out a shock of dark hair and a standard issue gun holster as both men drew nearer to each other. He lowered his weapon.

"Agent Hotchner?" He tried again and was rewarded with a nod.

"Thank God," Officer Burrows holstered his weapon and grinned in relief, "my name is Officer Burrows. We've been trying to get a hold of you as you hadn't checked in at all and with the storm, we were a bit concerned."

"Do you have any word on Dr. Reid?" Hotch asked hopefully.

"No, sir, we were hoping that he'd be with you," Burrows shook his head, "do you have any idea of what happened here?"

"Dr. Reid and Aiken have both been taken by an armed man according to Agent Morgan. Both he and Savannah have been shot. They need medical attention. The road to the hospital is flooded and," Hotch eyed the officer before him with trepidation, "the other road was blocked by a fallen tree." He pulled his weapon out and trained it on the man before him, "You want to tell me how you were able to make it past that fallen tree?"

"Agent Hotchner, I understand that you have been through a lot today," Burrows held his hands up in a placating manner; "Agent Prentiss and I were on our way to check up on your progress in finding Aiken Randall when we came across the downed tree. We returned to the station to get some help in removing the tree. I and Officer Cooper," he gestured to the porch behind him, "removed a portion of the tree with a chainsaw and drove here to find you. Agent Prentiss was asked to join Agent Rossi at a local gas station where an abandoned SUV was discovered."

Hotch wasn't sure whether to believe the man who stood before him or not, but what he said seemed to make sense. He had no way of checking on what the man had said and would have to take him at his word. He looked carefully at the man who had identified himself as Officer Burrows and noted that the man looked nervous at having a gun pointed at him, but he also looked slightly relieved. He had spoken in a relaxed manner and did not appear to be hiding anything. Hotch lowered his weapon and Burrows let out a relieved breath.

"I have two injured people that need medical attention," Hotch gestured toward the SUV, "we need to get them to the hospital as soon as possible."

Burrows took in the agent's appearance before him and knew the man was running on a sense of responsibility pure adrenaline and had been doing so for quite some time, "Looks like you'll also be needing some medical attention. Cooper!" The younger officer ran over to them.

"You drive the squad car, I'll be joining Agent Hotchner on the way to the clinic. Hospital's too far out. Soon as you can, call in Doc and make sure she's waiting for us there." Cooper headed to the squad car and Burrows stepped toward the SUV, Hotch striding before him.

"With all due respect sir, I think it best that I drive as I know where we're goin' and all," Burrows inclined his head, reaching for the door at the same time as Hotch did. Both men eyed each other, neither backing down.

"Hotch, he's got a point," Morgan said thickly. The man would soon lose consciousness again.

"Fine, but I'm not sitting in the back," Hotch crammed in the front, pushing Morgan closer to Savannah. It would be cramped, but Hotch was determined to make sure that both Morgan and Savannah made it to the clinic safely. It wasn't that he didn't trust Burrows, but he was Superman, it was his duty to take care of them after all.

"Alright," Burrows chuckled as he got into the vehicle and followed the squad car. Truth be told, he was concerned about the safety of all three of them as he took in their sickly pallor. _Doc had better be ready for us_, he thought grimly, driving toward the clinic as fast as he could. The rain finally seemed to be abating. Was that a rainbow peeking out of the dark cloud overhead? If so, it was only a brief shadow of one, Burrows wasn't about to wait for the pot of gold on the other side as Hotch closed his eyes and slumped down in the seat. Stepping on the gas, he raced toward town, toward the promise of help that awaited them there in the care of Doc's tender hands.


	18. The Hunt is Afoot

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

**Warning:** Disturbing imagery.

* * *

The Hunt is Afoot

"Certainly there is no hunting like the hunting of man and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never really care for anything else thereafter." - Ernest Hemingway (1899 - 1961), "On the Blue Water," Esquire, April 1936

* * *

_It is so cold here. Why is it so cold?_ He felt numb and his entire body shook with every breath. He wrapped his arms tightly around his knees, wincing in pain; still he couldn't manage to dredge up some warmth for himself. Rocking back and forth in the small, confined space he hid in, Reid bit back the tears that threatened to fall.

He could sense, more than feel, Aiken beside him and wondered if the kid thought he was weak. He had failed him, failed them both. He was supposed to help Aiken, bring him to safety. Instead, they were both huddling in a small cave, hiding from the monster who had killed his family and was bent on killing them.

Reid knew that when he had suggested to Aiken that they wait for a while and head back toward the gas station he would never make it there on his own; his body was far too damaged. He also feared that the man who was responsible for their current confinement would be back once he failed to find them further in the woods. There was no doubt in his fevered mind that they would be discovered and deep down, in a part of himself that he would rather not acknowledge, he wished that it would happen soon and that it would all be over. Resting his head on his knees, Reid let his eyes close, waiting for the inevitable, praying for the courage to face the end like a man. Like Morgan or Hotch would.

A small hand reached out for his own, startling Reid from his morbid reverie. Strange how much comfort that touch brought to him, a reminder that there was still so much that had to be done before he could give in to his urge to quit. Though every part of his body screamed in protest at the movement, he reached over and pulled Aiken closer to himself, knowing that it would bring warmth to both of them. Knowing that it was probably the only thing he could do at the moment; that and pray.

* * *

Rossi looked at the prone form of Billy Johnson. Nice, clean head wound. Strange how little blood there was; bullet must've lodged in his brain. Odd that his shirt had been taken, nothing else appeared to be missing. There was a picture of the kid taped to one of the cupboards above the register. His arm was around a beautiful blonde girl. Both were smiling, upon closer inspection Rossi saw bright tears in her eyes and a glinting ring on her finger. They were both leaning on what appeared to be the same red truck that sat abandoned outside. He searched the dead man's pockets almost apologetically. No keys. He next searched the area around the register and the counter behind the register for a set of keys that might go with the red truck outside. The keys were missing. _Why was the truck still here? If the killer had taken the keys to the vehicle, why hadn't he used it to make a getaway? He had also left Reid's SUV alone. Could Reid have been forced to this gas station by the same man who had killed the clerk?_

Rossi walked out to where the officers waited, noting that Prentiss had arrived. He waved her over from where she stood by Reid's deserted SUV in the misting rain. Observing the lines of tension around her eyes, he rested a consoling hand on her shoulder.

"That's Reid's SUV," Prentiss remarked, "is Reid in the store?"

"No, he's not. He could still be with Hotch and the others," Rossi led her under the protection of the awning.

"What happened?" Prentiss looked beyond him into the deceivingly, over cheerful light of the gas station.

"Clerk's dead. Shot point-blank in the head after his shirt was removed, so it is likely that he was prompted to take the shirt off. The keys to his truck are missing as well," Rossi ran a hand through his hair.

"What about the blood in the SUV?" Prentiss jutted her chin toward the discarded vehicle.

"Not sure," Rossi shook his head, "what we've got is Reid's SUV abandoned at the scene of a crime with no sign of Reid anywhere."

"You don't think," Prentiss looked sharply into Rossi's eyes.

"No, I don't think Reid did this, but at the moment we have little evidence to show otherwise," weariness coated his voice.

"What do you think happened?"

"I think that whoever did this has Reid and possibly Aiken Randall and that we need to find them soon," Rossi speculated.

"What makes you think that?"

"Not sure, just gut feeling," Rossi rubbed a hand over his face.

"Hey Peters!" Carter called over to his partner who hadn't moved from his position under the awning, though the rain had slowed considerably.

"What? Can't find the bathroom?" Peters asked in wary amusement.

"No, I mean, yes I found the bathroom, but I got footprints back here!" He called from the other side of the building, "Looks like three sets of prints, one smaller than the other two. They look pretty fresh and I think they lead to the woods out back."

"Hold on Carter, I'll be right there," no longer bored, Peters rounded the building with a spring to his step just as the coroner pulled into the lot. Rossi and Prentiss followed with flashlights in hand.

* * *

"Dr. Reid! Aiken! Come out, come out wherever you are!" Hardy called out in a sing-song voice, hands cupped around his mouth. He had been walking for a half an hour now and had lost all trace of the two. The rain was no longer drumming relentlessly on his flesh, but was now more of a steady drip-drop from the leaves of the trees that surrounded him. He felt clean, refreshed, revived, and more alive than he had felt in a long time. Yes, he had been angry with Dr. Reid and the Aiken brat for eluding him for so long, but as he licked at the blood that hadn't quite dried on his hands, he smiled, relishing the coppery taste, imagining what Dr. Reid would taste like.

Grinning in sweet anticipation, he stopped and sniffed the air. His uncle had taught him how to distinguish the almost sticky scent of fear from the earthy scents of the forest. He walked in a circle, his nose high in the air, taking in the smell of the dirt and rain. Dr. Reid and Aiken had not been this way; he turned to head back toward the gas station. He would use the skills his uncle had passed onto him during their hunting trips to ferret them out. Then Dr. Reid and Aiken would know what it meant to disobey him. They would learn from their mistake and he would revel in their pain. Mastering his senses, he crouched low to the ground, stalking his prey.

* * *

"Spencer," Aiken's soft voice trembled with the cold.

"Y..yes Aiken," Reid's voice cracked.

"Are you scared?" Reid felt Aiken shifting so that his head was upturned, presumably to look into his eyes, though it was too dark to do so.

Unsure how to answer, Reid asked, "Are you scared?" An ardent nod, followed by a breathtaking squeeze around his aching ribs was the only answer he got.

"Shhh…it'll be okay," Reid comforted, awkwardly patting Aiken's back and pulling him even closer so they were veritably leeching strength and heat from each other. After a moment's pause, Reid answered truthfully, "Yeah, I'm scared, but did you know that the bravest of men are not immune to fear. I believe it was Eddie Rickenbacker, who said, _Courage is doing what you're afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you're scared._" Reid blinked in the dark, astonished. _Where the hell had that come from?_

"Who's Eddie Rickenbacker?" Aiken asked quietly.

"He was a racecar driver and became a pilot in World War I," Reid answered automatically, having heard a fellow classmate's report on the World War I flying Ace in high school and remembering it word-for-word.

"Cool," Aiken whispered, imagining what it would be like to drive a racecar or fly a fighter jet.

"He also survived a plane crash on the Pacific Ocean, living on a raft without food or water for twenty-two days," Reid closed his heavy eyelids.

"Really?" Aiken's fear had receded to the back of his mind where it was just a shadow threatening to overtake and swallow him. It wasn't completely gone, but it no longer overpowered him. Curiosity momentarily reigned in his fatigued brain as he imagined the downed pilot (picturing him looking much like Spencer) and himself stranded in the vast expanse of the ocean.

"Spencer?" Aiken's tired voice was muffled by the fabric of the agent's shirt.

"Hmm?" Reid felt sleep pulling at him. As though it had hands, it beckoned him away from the cold of the cave, away from the fear of discovery, away from the disjointed memories that plagued his overtaxed mind, and away from the danger that crept closer with each baited breath.

"I think I'm gonna be racecar driver or pilot someday or maybe an FBI agent like you," his words trailed off as sleep claimed him.

* * *

"What do you think?" Prentiss pointed the beam of her flashlight on the smallest of the footprints they had been following.

"Looks like these two," Rossi pointed toward a smaller footprint matched with a bigger one, "walked together and those bigger ones," he pointed at another set of footprints which neatly crisscrossed the others, sometimes trampling them completely, "came after."

"So, we got three people on foot, one of them a child," Prentiss clarified.

"That's what it looks like," Rossi nodded as his eyes scanned the ground for more footprints, "also looks like the pair were not walking at an even pace. One might possibly be injured or they could've been on the run, but the other set of footprints," here he paused, "look like they were deliberately placed. Almost like the one was pursuing the other two."

"We've got a dead gas station clerk, a missing child, Reid's SUV minus Reid, and three sets of footprints headed toward the woods. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Prentiss looked at Rossi.

"I'm thinking we're going to need a few more men to search the woods," Rossi stood from where he had been squatting next to a pair of footprints.

"The coroner and homicide team's here, we could help you search the woods," Peters jerked a thumb toward Carter and himself, eager to do something now that there was something to do. When he saw the reluctance on Prentiss and Rossi's faces, he stepped forward, "Given the weather that we've had and the amount of cleanup that will be involved, we're probably all you're gonna get."

"Wish Hotch and Morgan were here. Have you heard anything?" Prentiss asked the officer.

"No ma'am," Peters looked toward the woods, "coroner estimated the time of death at just over an hour ago. That means the killer has at least an hour lead on us. Don't mean to step on any toes or anything, but I think the more time we spend here waiting, the further away that psycho is getting. We could lose him completely. Billy was a good kid; I want to be able to look his father in the eyes and tell him that we at least caught the bastard who murdered him."

"It's not that simple," Rossi looked the officer in the eyes, gauging him, "we have three sets of prints here, one is a child's and the other could possibly be Dr. Reid's."

"Okay, I get it, don't go in half-cocked. I'd rather take the bastard alive anyway," Peters replied, a half-smile in place.

"Okay, I'll take the lead, Prentiss you head in that direction, keep me in your line of vision," Rossi pointed to his left, Prentiss nodded, "you two follow us. If anyone spots anything, signal to the others. We don't know what our unsub looks like and it will be hard to distinguish who is and who is not a potential threat in the dark. In addition, we have a potential hostage situation and our unsub is armed and dangerous. If he is cornered, he will not hesitate to shoot. It also looks like he is tracking the other two. If he becomes aware of our pursuit, he may hurt the others," _if he hasn't already. _Rossi took the lead and they followed the muddy footprints into the woods. Darkness gathered around them as they left the comfort of the lit gas station and entered the woods.

Losing track of the footprints, Rossi pooled them together, "Okay, looks like we head in the path of least resistance as someone on the run would most likely not be thinking of anything but escape. Keep your eyes and ears open. Anyone sees or hears anything, let the others know." Prentiss, Peters, and Carter nodded silently as they moved into the densely wooded forest, eyes and ears strained for even the slightest sense of movement. Muscles taut, nerves on fire, they embarked on their pursuit of the killer.

* * *

Reid awoke with a start, banging his head painfully on the roof of the small cave, _Ouch! Shit!_ He rubbed at his head with a numb hand, looking around blearily for the familiar red numbers of his alarm clock, fully expecting them to be glaring 2:30 am at him. Temporarily disoriented, he swallowed the dryness in his throat wondering why his room was so dark and frigid and why he was sitting up, rather than lying down in his bed. _What was he clinging to? He hadn't had a teddy bear in years. Was he actually in bed with someone? _The sweat and heat emanating from the person next to him sent shivers down his spine as his body tried, but failed to compensate for the lack of heat on the other side of his body which was stiff and frozen.

Something had awakened him. He had heard footsteps, soft, searching, and drawing nearer. They had entered his dreams. _He was running through a maze of glass. Running, and getting nowhere. His lungs were burning and his side ached. He was sweating and yet shivering with chills. He had to get out before the monster got him, but he couldn't. Every time he thought he was out of the maze; he would be at another dead end, the glass deceptively transparent, showing him the promise of freedom, but denying it at the same time. The breath of the monster that chased him, ever on the back of his neck, though he couldn't see its face, he could hear it taunting him, "…time to come out and play. I want to have some fun…" The fun it promised left him shivering violently. He was ahead of it, though it plodded along behind him, steadily matching him step-for-step. _SNAP!_ The sound broke into his dream, dragging him from the crystalline walls, shattering them with another SNAP and he was awake…_to face the real nightmare.

Another loud SNAP and Reid was finally back to reality. He became aware of several things at once: the source of heat was Aiken who had also been awakened by the sound, he was in a cave, not at home, and the monster from his nightmare was a man whose heavy breathing could be heard just outside of their hiding place. His heart stopped beating as panic took hold and squeezed the breath from him. Bright stars, tiny pinpricks of light, flashed beneath his eyelids. He was dizzy, sweat peppered his clammy skin, and he silently gulped in life giving air as his heart beat and then skipped and then beat again, the sound of it thundering in his ears.

* * *

The night sounds of the forest encompassed Rossi. An owl on the hunt hooted nearby as it swooped in for the kill, talons ripping into the tender flesh of an unlucky rabbit. Their trek through the woods was going at a snail's pace and he was bone weary, yet unwilling, unable to quit. A young boy and Dr. Reid needed assistance, _that is if they are still alive_, a voice sounding too much like his own interrupted his thoughts, mocking him. _They are alive_, he shot back as he made his way through the thick trees, stumbling over the roots.

* * *

Darkness wrapped itself around Prentiss, but she pressed onward, following the flickering path that her flashlight made. The beam was far too short, didn't allow her to see far enough ahead. She was missing large portions of the forest because she couldn't see them. _What if she walked right past Reid or the child, leaving them in the hands of a murderer?_ Shaking off her thoughts of doubt, she swept the flashlight back and forth along the path, peering closely into the shadows that lay just beyond where the light reached.

* * *

Peters had grown up hunting in woods like these since he was old enough to walk. _He had gone out with his granddad, pop, and older brothers. They often left while it was still dark outside as it gave them an edge and allowed them to set up camp before the heat of daylight. He'd become an expert tracker and won various state competitions for hunting. He'd have to take his sons hunting soon, it would make Peg happy and he'd get to spend some time with the boys doing something he loved. _Turning his attention back to his current jaunt in the woods, he smiled wryly; _just another hunt only the prey might just shoot back this time._ Sensing something, he crouched low to the ground and ran his hand along the damp earth, there it was, an indent, someone had turned off the 'path of least resistance'.

"Hey!" His shout was quiet, yet it carried to the others. Prentiss' flashlight illuminated him and he gestured in the direction that the print indicated their prey had taken. They changed directions, Rossi giving Peters the lead.

* * *

Carter had never enjoyed hunting, though his dad had insisted on taking him out every weekend during hunting season from the age of ten until he was finally able to say, "No," when he was eighteen. He didn't like the itchy feeling it gave him, the feeling that he was the one being hunted rather than the one doing the hunting. When Peters had offered up their services, he felt that itchy, creepy crawly feeling he had always gotten when his dad handed him the gun and they made their way into the woods. His mom had told him that it was empathy; his dad had thought that if he brought him out enough times his sensitive, girly son would become a man. It hadn't worked; he could never seem to enjoy the act of hunting. The act of shooting something and then stalking it through the woods until it was dead didn't appeal to him.

He had won medals as an all-star on the track team and had played varsity football, but it had never really made his dad proud of him. He had become a police officer, not to hunt down criminals and kill them, but to keep the peace as the officers of the past had done. He was a peace officer and did not relish the confrontation that could occur once they came face-to-face with the man who had killed his friend, Billy Johnson.

He followed the others, keeping his eyes focused on what lay ahead, though hyper aware of the dangers that could lie just out of sight. One thing his dad taught him that transcended hunting was, _"Always be aware of your surroundings son. Anything can come at you, anytime, but if you keep an eye on things, if you stay alert, you can get the jump on it, whatever it is."_ _Billy's killer would not be getting the jump on him today, no sir._

* * *

It had been slow going for Hardy, but he was in his element. His muscles were tense with the chase, sweat slick on his chest and arms. He sniffed again, tasting the brackish air at the back of his throat as he inhaled. The hair at the back of his neck bristled, he was close. Dr. Reid, Aiken, and he would soon be reunited; one big happy family. He stood, a twig snapping beneath the heel of his mud-covered boot, "Dr. Reid, can you hear me? I'm getting close. Time to come out and play. I want to have some fun. You can't hide forever."

Another branch snapped beneath his boot as he took a step forward and then another. He stood, listening to the sounds of the night, listening for something low and steady, like a heartbeat. His uncle had insisted that if you listened really carefully, you would be able to hear the beating of your quarry's heart. He willed his own breathing to match that of the air around him, felt himself become one with nature, and listened. There it was, a single, no a double heartbeat thundering in time to the thrill of the hunt, just as his uncle had said it would. The quarry, after all, would be fully aware of the pursuit and its heart would beat at a quicker pace than normal and would, if one listened carefully enough match the excitement that the hunter felt. Yes, Dr. Reid and Aiken were nearby and their hearts beat a steady rhythm that called out to him. He could tell that they too had become wary of the chase. He remembered one hunt in particular where a deer he and his uncle had shot put up a valiant fight, leading them through the woods in its attempt to escape their pursuit and live, but in the end it had welcomed death, begging them to take its life with its panicked eyes rolling around wildly in its head. It had been an honor to slit its throat, just like it would be an honor to unveil Dr. Reid and Aiken and show them that, though they had been worthy adversaries, he was better and stronger than they. He was so close he could taste their fear on the air.

He squatted low to the ground, placing his hand on a crudely made shelter, admiring its simplicity. It had fooled him the first time, but he had been back and had seen through it. He rested his hand on the pine branches and waited a breath as he listened and was rewarded for his patience when a diminutive whimper reached his ears. Smiling cruelly, he brushed away the branches of the hastily constructed asylum, victor of the hunt.


	19. Control

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Control

"Enough organization, enough lists and we think we can control the uncontrollable." - John Mankiewicz, _House, The Socratic Method, 2004_

* * *

Hotch blinked. _How long have I been out of it?_ The scenery that met his blurry gaze was completely unfamiliar and for a moment disorientation reigned. Strange trees passed by the windshield and Hotch wondered briefly if the trees were moving past him or if he was moving past the trees. _Am I driving? I shouldn't be driving if I think trees are moving. _His body felt oddly heavy, it was difficult for him to focus on anything and he felt drunk. _I should never have let Garcia talk me into going out for a drink. I really shouldn't be driving. Where exactly am I?_

Hotch reoriented his eyes, trying to get them to focus. _Where the hell is the steering wheel?_ Panic took over as he attempted to locate the steering wheel, but failed. _I am going to crash! _The thought screamed in his mind, in bright, bold red lettering and he drew in a sharp breath as the trees loomed closer and he felt his body move forward of its own volition. Unable to control the vehicle without the steering wheel, he threw up his hands in front of him, trying to stop his head from smashing into the dashboard. His body tensed for the impact and he jerked awake with a loud gasp. Heart pounding loudly in his ears, it took him a minute to realize that the crash had only been a dream built on half-awareness. His eyes had been opened, but exhaustion had allowed the images he saw to be twisted into a sort of dreamlike hallucination nightmare.

"You okay there?" A voice boomed loudly in his ears, reverberating in his head. He couldn't quite place the voice and fell into a state of partial awareness again, though this time he knew that his thoughts were not entirely based on reality as paranoid thoughts assailed him. He struggled to break out of this panicked state of mind, but found himself wondering if the voice belonged to someone who had kidnapped him or was going to do strange experiments on him. _If only everything weren't so fuzzy._

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the dark blue of a police uniform. His memory started to return to him in slow motion pictures, one after another, like snapshots from a Polaroid camera; indistinct at first, but gaining clarity the more he focused on them. They remained rough around the edges as they began to develop.

"You okay?" The voice again.

Blinking, Hotch attempted a sideways glance at the speaker but was stopped by momentary vertigo. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out of his parched lips. He settled for a slow nod of his head, though in reality he wasn't sure whether he was okay or not.

"Just lay back and rest easy," the man advised and Hotch realized that he was sitting forward in his seat, with his hands on the dashboard. His muscles were so tense that he literally could not comply with the request. He couldn't lie back because his taut muscles would not allow him to.

Noticing the obvious discomfort of the FBI agent, Burrows leaned over and gently pried Hotch's hands from the dashboard, easing him back into the seat.

"Shouldn't be too much longer," Burrows said conversationally, "Doc's place ain't but a couple more miles off in that direction," he gestured vaguely, knowing that Hotch wasn't really paying much attention to what he was saying, but wanting to reassure the man that all was well nonetheless.

Hotch allowed his eyes to close once more and focused at the distorted images that replayed in his mind, hoping to figure out where he was and why he wasn't the one at the wheel. He was almost always in control and it terrified him that he was so out of it that he couldn't even remember where he was or who was driving a vehicle he should have, by all rights, been driving. He was never this out of control in any situation, too many people counted on him to be the one in control. It was his duty and one that he fulfilled with great pride.

_It was a lack of control that had cost him his marriage. Or maybe it was his unwillingness to give up control that had ultimately cost him Haley. He had been incapable of successfully juggling a personal and professional life. What did that say about him? If he couldn't control the situation at home, how would he be able to control it at work? Did he have any right to be the lead agent when he couldn't even handle a marriage? Or maybe his marriage had held him back from his work and with its dissolution, he would be a better agent? At the moment, he didn't feel like a better agent. He felt like an agent who had let his entire team down._

The garbled images that played about in his mind became clearer with each passing moment. They had been searching for a witness to a violent crime and he had shot an innocent woman. Morgan had also been shot and both their witness and Reid were missing. The rain had caused flooding on what Hotch thought of as a Biblical scale and he had been unable to get them to safety. The man driving was a police officer and he was bringing them to some sort of clinic for medical attention.

"Dr. Reid?" Hotch managed to croak out between his dry lips, chancing a sideways glance at the officer.

"Uh," Burrows looked briefly at the agent before turning his eyes back to the road, "he's not with us. Not really sure where he is."

"Anyone looking for him?" Hotch frowned.

"I believe so," Burrows smiled reassuringly, "he and the boy, Aiken."

"Good," Hotch allowed his eyes to close once more, "how are Agent Morgan and Miss Leigh?"

"They haven't so much as stirred since we got in the SUV, but they're still breathing," Burrows peered at the two in question, mentally taking stock of their medical condition. Both were terribly pale and much too still for his liking, but their chests were still moving. That had to be a good sign.

"Rain stopped," Hotch was looking out the windshield through half-open eyes.

""Bout time," Burrows grinned, "wondered if it was ever gonna stop for awhile there."

"Me too," Hotch grinned lopsidedly, feeling a bit more like himself.

"Well, here we are," Burrows pulled into a short, paved driveway and parked as close to the door as he could get without actually driving up onto the porch. He sighed in relief when he spotted Doc's mint colored 'vette and Cooper's squad in the small six-car lot.

He jumped out of the SUV and helped Hotch out, leaving him to stand on wobbly legs while he honked the horn twice before racing to the passenger side of the vehicle. Hotch followed at what felt like a snail's pace. His injured leg nearly giving out on him halfway around, he stopped and leaned on the hood, pulling back in surprise at how hot the metal felt beneath his hand.

As soon as Burrows had Savannah half-way out of the vehicle, Doc and Cooper were there with a wheelchair. Depositing her safely in it, he turned back to pull Agent Morgan from the vehicle.

"Give us a minute," Doc called back over her shoulder, pushing the wheelchair up the porch and into her clinic.

Neither Burrows nor Hotch listened. Burrows pushed the unconscious agent toward Hotch who grabbed him under his arms, careful not to jostle his injury. Burrows took the agent's feet and they carried Morgan into the clinic, nearly bumping into Doc in the hallway.

"Thought I told you to wait," she ushered the men into a small room filled with medical equipment. They deposited Morgan on a bed in the middle of the room. Hotch leaned back against the exam table and exhaled loudly through his mouth, quelling the dizziness that tugged at his consciousness.

Small, but strong hands guided him away from Morgan's side and into another sterile, white-walled room. "Get up on that bed," a steely woman's voice commanded and Hotch wearily complied, "now lie back," he reluctantly obeyed, his eyes blinking in the painful, too bright light that was suddenly shone in his eyes.

"Hmmm, no concussion," he felt firm hands poke and prod him as he was examined. He flinched when the hands brushed his injured leg, "we'll get that cleaned and dressed," something small, round, and cold was placed against his chest and he was one again commanded, "breathe in…breathe out…breathe in…out…sounds good, now sit up…breathe in….out…in…hmmm…out, sounds like you might be developing a bit of a chest cold," the small, red-haired woman smiled up at him. Patting his thigh, her hands guided him to lie down.

"Shouldn't you be checking on the other two?" Hotch croaked. He wasn't the one in need of immediate medical attention. Savannah and Morgan were in much worse shape than he was.

"Do I tell you how to do your job?" The woman snapped, quirking an eyebrow, her lips in a grim line as she continued her examination of Hotch's leg. Pulling her plastic exam gloves off and tossing them in a nearby garbage can, she left the room, tossing back over her shoulder, "Stay put!"

"She's a bit fiery," Burrows said apologetically as he entered the room and sat in a chair next to Hotch, "but she's damn good at her job. She'll take good care of your man and Savannah. Don't worry," he consoled, following Hotch's pained gaze out the door.

"How long has she been a doctor?" Hotch turned to look at Burrows. The woman hadn't seemed old enough to be a full-fledged doctor. She was slight and small; she looked more like a child to Hotch than a doctor. Her green eyes had flashed impatiently at him when he had questioned her and her face had turned red, causing her freckles to pop out on her face, making her look even younger.

"Since about the age of ten," Burrows chuckled, shaking his head. "She started shadowing her grandfather 'round about that time. She grew up in Houston, but her parents were killed in a fire, so she came here to live with her grandparents," Burrows explained when Hotch looked at him in confusion.

"She graduated, oh about ten years ago. Was the top of her class from one of the best medical schools in the country," he gestured to a plaque on the wall containing her credentials, "coulda gone into practice anywhere, but chose to come back here and open up a clinic. She also helps out at the hospital," he chuckled and shook his head when Hotch's face showed signs of immense relief.

"So," Hotch grimaced at the dull pain that throbbed from his leg, "she's…" pain shot up his leg and he clutched at it, groaning.

"She'll be turning forty her next birthday," Burrows stood, grabbing Hotch's shoulder in a gesture to help ease his pain, knowing that it would offer little comfort, but wanting to do something for the stoic man, "don't tell her I revealed her real age, she'll have my head."

Hotch returned the officer's smile weakly as Burrows eased him back onto the bed and sat down once again, "Secret's safe with me," he whispered, closing his eyes against the pain that had suddenly decided to make itself known.

"Can you go check on the others?" Hotch asked as another wave of pain washed over him.

"Sure," Burrows stood and walked out of the room, gesturing for Cooper to take his place next to the agent. Doc had all but ordered them to keep an eye on the man and make sure he stayed on the bed. She didn't trust him to follow her directive to 'stay put', sensing that he was a man who liked to be in control and would be ill-at-ease with her decision to examine him first, knowing that there were others in need of medical attention.

"Doc," Burrows popped his head into the room, "how's it going in here?" She had a mask on and was washing her hands. Agent Morgan lay on the table in the middle of the room. He was so still that Burrows wondered if the man was still breathing.

"Get in here and put a mask on," Doc continued her meticulous washing, not glancing at Burrows, "I'm gonna need some help here," she finished washing and dried her hands, pulling on fresh gloves. Burrows reluctantly entered the room and pulled on a mask, going over to the sink to wash his hands when Doc gestured for him to do so. This wouldn't be the first time he'd helped her out, but it didn't mean that he was happy about it.

"Don't worry, you'll just be handing me things," he could hear her smile under the surgical mask. She expertly hung a bag of blood and some other bag filled with a clear liquid from a stand and started an IV for the blood and clear liquid in the back of Morgan's hand.

"I'll be using a local anesthetic," she concentrated on applying clear surgical tape to keep the IVs in place, while talking to Burrows. Though, whose mind she was trying to ease, he couldn't be sure. Drying his shaking hands, he put on a pair of gloves and stood off to the side until Doc gestured for him to come closer.

"How's Savannah?" He braved, standing opposite the petite woman who bustled about, checking the instruments and various equipment.

Piercing him with an impatient glare, she clipped out, "She'll be fine for the time being. This one's lost quite a bit more blood and the bullet needs to be removed. It's a little too close to an artery for comfort. That satisfy you?" Katherine hated having her medical decisions questioned.

"Just curious," Burrows placated, shrugging his shoulders, "Agent Hotchner, the man you examined," he gestured toward the room he had recently left, "asked."

"Humph," she picked up a needle and plunged it into Morgan's arm below his injury, "want to tell me what happened?" She picked up another needle and applied it just above the man's wound before tossing it into the hazardous waste bucket.

"Uh," Burrows swallowed, "not sure exactly what happened. Did you hear what happened at the Randall place?" At her nod, he continued, "Well, the FBI came to investigate. A couple of agents went to Savannah's place to search for Aiken, he went missing you know. I guess there was some sort of shoot out resulting in Savannah and Agent Morgan here being wounded. Aiken and another agent are both missing."

"So, you don't know how long he's had this bullet in him," she turned her sharp gaze to him.

"No, sorry Doc," Burrows looked away.

"Hand me that scalpel," she wasted no more time and began to work on getting the bullet out of Morgan's arm, cleaning the wound, and stitching it up, thankful and a little concerned that he hadn't woken up during the procedure. Hanging another bag of blood, she checked the clear liquid, tapping the tubing that ran down to his arm and adjusting the vice that controlled how quickly the liquid entered the man's veins. Pulling off her gloves and mask, she disposed of them and indicated for Burrows to do the same. In all, it hadn't taken more than twenty minutes and they were out the door, heading toward the room in which Savannah lay.

Doc had already started an IV drip and had hung a bag of blood; Burrows wondered when she had taken the time to do that. Probably before he and Agent Hotchner had brought Morgan in. She replaced the waning bag of blood with a new one and handed him a mask before donning one herself. They washed and put on new gloves, repeating the surgery she had performed on Agent Morgan.

"I think we'd best keep our patients together," Doc had Burrows wheel Savannah's bed into the room that Morgan occupied, setting up the equipment to monitor both of them. Satisfied with their stability, she left the room to go take care of Agent Hotchner, "Keep an eye on them," Burrows sat in the chair she pulled up for him, nodding his head in assent.

"I thought I told you to stay put," Hotch turned around at the sound of an angry voice. A small red-haired woman dressed in blue scrubs stood in the doorway. One fist on a hip, she blocked his only exit.

"Burrows was going to check on the others for me," he answered feebly, his injured leg buckling under him. Grasping the edge of the exam table with numbing fingers, he leaned his weight off of the injured leg, "it's been over an hour," his brown eyes looked into her fierce green ones, an unspoken plea in them.

"Cooper, help the man back onto the table," she continued to block the door with her body and turned her glare to the young officer who sheepishly went to help the agent back onto the table.

"Sorry, Doc I couldn't stop him," he looked away from her piercing glare, turning red in embarrassment. _The man was injured and he had been unable to keep him from getting off the exam table. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic._ Determined to prove that he wasn't as inept as he appeared to be, Cooper grasped the FBI agent's arm firmer than was necessary and attempted to maneuver him back onto the table.

"Tell me how the others are," Hotch ground out, resisting Cooper, glaring back at the woman who continued to block his path.

"They're stable," she shifted her gaze to him, "now, get up on that table so I can take care of that leg."

"I want to see them," Hotch returned her gaze, pushing Cooper away.

"Just as soon as I get that leg taken care of agent," she raised her eyebrows, "don't you trust me?"

"I'd just feel better seeing them," he answered steadily.

"You're going to have to take my word on that," she returned, "I got the bullets out, cleaned and stitched up their wounds, and replenished their blood. They are stabilized and you going to check up on them is not going to do you or them any good. As a matter of fact, it could do more harm than good," she looked him up and down as he trembled in pain, "now, are you going to get back on that table and let me do my job?"

Hotch assessed her with a searching glance and nodded, accepting Cooper's help back onto the table.

"You're sure they're okay?" He looked into her bright green eyes as she once again assessed his head for injuries. She nodded in response.

"No sign of head trauma," she announced dryly, as though speaking into a tape recorder, "though patient's actions would seem to indicate otherwise." Her hands moved down to check, once again, for signs of tenderness in the belly that might indicate an internal injury.

"Care to tell me what happened?" She asked. Her back was to Hotch as she gingerly checked out the wound to his thigh and his swollen ankle, "Burrows wasn't very elaborate in his explanation."

"To be honest, I'm not really sure what happened," he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth when she applied pressure to his ankle.

"So, both your agent and Savannah were shot, you somehow got a puncture wound in your thigh that is developing a nasty-looking infection and twisted your ankle. What happened?" She gently straightened out his ankle, noting the change in his breathing as he attempted to bite back the pain.

"I fell while running, twisted my ankle and a nail went into my thigh," he squeezed his eyes as a blinding pain tore through him. Swallowing, he continued, "I think…I think that I shot Savannah during a shootout. I didn't know it was her," a choked sob broke through his resolve, "She shot at me, I think," he blinked back tears, angry at his vulnerability.

"How long ago did all of this happen?" She ignored his moment of vulnerability, bringing him back to cold, hard facts, something he was much more comfortable with.

"I'm not sure," his voice cracked. Coughing he began again, "maybe two, three, four, five hours ago?" _How the hell had he lost track of so much time?_

"Hmmmm…" she applied some salve to the small cuts and abrasions on his face, "how did you get these scratches?"

"Running through the forest," he replied easily, grateful for the change in topic, "the branches attacked without mercy."

Chuckling, she cleaned out the small cuts on his arms, surmising they had been afflicted in the same manner as the ones on his face. She applied the salve to them as well, "You grew up in the city, didn't you?" She teased.

"How'd you guess?" Hotch relaxed a little, though his mind was still on Morgan and Savannah as well as Reid and Aiken.

"Only city folk and the foolish don't remember to hold the branches back," she smiled.

"Doc," Burrows ran into the room, out of breath, "Agent Morgan's awake."

"You didn't let him get up did you?" She rounded on the panting man who shook his head. "Good, how's his breathing?"

"Seems normal," Burrows' breathing had returned to normal, "he asked about Savannah and Hotch and seems thirsty."

"Well, go back to him, make sure he stays put and get him some water, use a straw and watch that he doesn't take too much at once," she instructed, "let me know if anything changes. If he is in pain, go ahead and get him some Tylenol, it's in the cabinet over the sink. He may just go back to sleep, if he does, let him." Burrows nodded and left the room.

"I should really," Hotch attempted to sit up, but was pushed forcibly down by Doc.

"Stay put," she finished his sentence, "I'm not finished with you yet."

"But," she put a silencing finger on his lips.

"You are in no condition to get up off that bed," she finished putting the salve on his arms, "let me take care of your leg and then we will wheel you over to the other room," at the mortified look on his face, she added, "in a wheelchair."

"Thank you," he whispered.

"No problem," she smiled, "I am going to clean out the puncture wound in your leg. You are going to feel the prick of a needle and then hopefully nothing more than a strange sensation as I clean out the wound. I may need to put some stitches in; I'll let you know when the time comes." She bent to her work, cleaning out the wound efficiently.

"I'll give you some antibiotics through an IV," she looked up at him, while covering his injury with clean gauze, "looks like there's no need for stitches at the moment, but we'll keep an eye on it. Now," she paused, looking him in the eye, "it's time to set that ankle of yours. This will hurt, but I'll give you some Tylenol and a lollipop when we're done."

"You got any cherry flavored?" Hotch smiled, propped up on his elbows.

"We'll see," she turned her back on him and checked the alignment of his ankle as well as the swelling. It was a dark purple in color and was swollen to nearly twice its size. Sucking air in between her teeth, she gently lifted the ankle, checking it for any protruding bones. Wishing, not for the first time, that her non-functioning x-ray machine had been fixed. She'd been without one for over a month now. She placed the ankle back on the table and prodded it, knowing that it was causing excruciating pain for her patient. He was no longer propped up by his elbows, but had fallen back. A sheen of sweat beaded his pale skin.

"Almost done," she smiled tightly, "I'm afraid that you did more than twist your ankle." She felt a break. How he had managed to walk and stand on it baffled her. She set and wrapped it, careful to make the process as pain free as possible.

Pain knifed through Hotch, took his breath away, and left him nauseated. He grasped the thin sheet beneath him crinkling it in his fists, willing himself not to throw up or lose consciousness. Blackness shrouded his vision, broken only by swirling stars that darted through the black mist that pulsated with pain. He bit his bottom lip and scrunched his eyes, holding his breath to stave off the pain. He bucked up off the table, only to have Cooper push him back down and hold him in place. _Surely a broken ankle shouldn't hurt this much, get a grip_, he chastised himself.

"Done," Doc hung an IV, opting to wheel him into the other room on the mobile table rather than put him through more pain with a transfer to a chair. She gave the shaking man two Tylenol and a sip of water before collapsing onto a chair and running a tired hand over her face.

* * *

"Damn, lost their trail," Rossi looked at Prentiss who continued to search the surrounding forest, pointing her flashlight in first one, then another direction. Coming up with nothing, she nodded grimly.

"I got something over here," Carter gestured the pair over using his flashlight to guide them to where he stood next to a tree with what looked like a piece of torn white fabric clinging to a broken branch.

"Good eye," Rossi reached for the thin piece of fabric, holding it under his flashlight. Narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, he rubbed it in his fingers, "Hey Prentiss, I think this might be from Reid's shirt." He handed the piece of torn clothing to her. After briefly examining it, she handed it back to Rossi, nodding. _It could be his shirt_.

"Looks like whoever wore this shirt headed in that direction," Carter pointed to his left where he could make out a makeshift trail of broken branches, which at first glance appeared random, but on closer inspection seemed to form a trail.

"Do you think Reid did this?" Rossi asked Prentiss.

"If we can follow it, so could the person who took him," she shook her head; "I don't think he did this deliberately if that is what you are asking. Looks like he was limping." Frowning, she looked at the forest ahead, too much ground to cover and it didn't look as though Reid was doing too well. _If they didn't find him soon, what were the chances that they would find him before his captor caught up with him and Aiken again? What were the chances they would even find him and Aiken alive?_

* * *

Aiken grasped Reid's hand painfully; he could hear the rustle of the leaves just outside their hiding place. They had been discovered. His heart beat in his throat, choking him in fear. Closing his eyes, he rocked back and forth, stilling when Reid held him closer and gently shushed him, assuring him that everything would be alright.

_How could everything be alright with the monster standing just outside of their hiding place?_


	20. Monsters Do Exist

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

**Warning: **This chapter features disturbing images and thoughts (non-con); some of which are of a sexual nature. Some readers may find this disturbing.

* * *

Monsters Do Exist

"Death is not the worst that can happen to men." - Plato

* * *

Aiken detached himself from Reid and cringed back from the entrance of the cave, burrowing into a dark crevice as the branches that he had carefully placed over the opening were savagely swept aside and the face of the monster launched itself into the cave. A look of triumph graced its features in a hideous interpretation of a smile. Trembling, Aiken closed his eyes, tricking himself into believing that the act of closing his eyes made him invisible.

Tucking his thumb in his mouth, he hid from the macabre reality before him by pretending that he was safe at home with his mother and brother. _Pretending that none of this had happened. Pretending that his uncle had dropped his cousins off to play and that they were outside playing soldiers. Anytime now, his mom would announce that it was time for lunch, and they would come running in to find sandwiches and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, warm from the oven. His mouth watered as he imagined biting into a soft, chocolaty cookie warm and gooey, melting in his mouth. His stomach growled painfully and he mentally shushed it, still uncomfortably aware of the monster that had invaded his hiding spot. Maybe if he made himself smaller, everything around him would disappear. Maybe he would disappear and take Spencer with him, leaving the monster behind._

* * *

Hardy grinned in satisfaction watching the brat scurry away, leaving him face-to-face with Dr. Reid. He had hunted and stalked his prey successfully and now would claim his prize. There was nothing else in the world like hunting and capturing a worthy adversary. He recalled the sweet taste of victory that he had experienced when he and his uncle had sought and finally conquered his first wounded deer, giving him an unquenchable thirst for hunting at the tender age of nine. And though it had happened so many years ago, it felt to Hardy as though it had happened just yesterday.

_The deer had finally surrendered itself to them after an hour's chase through the darkening forest and thick drifts of heavy snow. Its trail of blood, staggering black red droplets, had marred the white purity of the freshly fallen snow, leading them directly to it. It had stood before them tall, majestic and proud, breathing laboriously through its foaming nostrils before succumbing to its gaping wound and plunging onto its side in the snow, sending up aftershocks of powdery white puffs around it. Nothing he had ever done since then held for him that same sense of triumphant conquest. Now, however, in the face of Dr. Reid, the memory seemed cheapened somehow. It paled in comparison to this. He had thought, mistakenly, that when his uncle had been killed, those days were over, but now he realized with pristine clarity that that day had just been preparation for the moment that would be his crowning victory. It had ultimately led him to this very space at this very time, kneeling in the muddy underbrush of a forest in Alabama with his most worthy and beautiful rival to date, Dr. Reid, at his mercy._

Dr. Reid's glazed eyes looked up at him, bewitching him, reminding him of that deer_. It had held that same knowing look in its eyes. Knowing what Hardy had been about to do, it did not fight back, but valiantly gave into the inevitable. Hardy grasped its antlers in hands that trembled with barely containable excitement; this would be his fist kill. It made eye contact. It did not beg him for life, but rather asked for death; just as Dr. Reid's dark, enchanting eyes were doing now. Listening to his uncle's careful instruction, he took the curved hunting knife and forcefully drew it across the beast's neck, tearing through arteries and sinews. It did not die right away. Hardy and his uncle sat with the dying animal, watching as the dark, inky crimson leaked from its yawning neck, melting the snow with its dying warmth. They watched as it took its final shuddering breath. Tiny white puffs, like smoke, crystallized and hung in the still, cool air, and its wild eyes rolled back in its head. _

Grabbing a handful of Dr. Reid's hair in his fist, Hardy forced the man's head back, baring his tender neck to the cool night air. He breathed in the scent of his quarry. The piquant mixture of sweat, blood, fear, and adrenaline excited, no, intoxicated him. Pulling out his hunting knife, he traced it along the man's supple neck, starting at a point just beneath his jaw line, moving the tip of the knife along the ghostly white skin to the sternum. He tickled and provoked the doctor's senses as he meticulously sketched the shadow of a path along the unmarred skin gracing his trachea. He drew no blood, but teased up tiny goose bumps along his captive's flesh.

At first, Dr. Reid did not struggle beneath Hardy's fastidious ministrations. His hands flew to the clammy floor of the cave, lending him balance, when his head was forcefully tipped backwards, fully displaying his neck to the intruder. His heart stilled and quickened its pace in fearful expectancy. Though he had felt the man's heated breath caress his earlobe, it didn't register on his mind that his and Aiken's hiding spot had been discovered until he felt the tip of a knife gently stroke his throat, arousing diminutive prickles along his chilled, damp skin.

Dimly aware of the absence of Aiken's warmth snuggled safely against him, he swallowed in wary anticipation of his death, grateful that the little boy had had the presence of mind to leave him when Hardy had raided their impromptu hide-out. Thankful that the little boy would not bear witness to his execution, he closed his eyes in surrender to imminent death.

Playing the knife along the shapely throat of his victim once more, Hardy drilled the keen tip of his curved blade into Reid's, heretofore, flawless skin just shy of his carotid artery. A breathy grasp from the doctor aroused his senses ten-fold, awakening a long neglected need in him.

The sight of Dr. Reid's blood excited Hardy, bringing him back to the memory of his first kill. _When the deer finally ceased to take in life-confirming breath_, _Hardy's nine-year-old heart skipped a beat and he dipped a finger into the yet warm blood which had pooled beneath the expired beast. Lifting the dripping finger, he stared at it. Mesmerized by the ruby, jewel-like quality of the life-giving fluid, he inserted his blood-coated finger into his mouth and tasted, marveling at how the salty blood seemed to sharpen his senses and give new meaning to his life. A thin line of blood dribbling down his chin, he turned to his uncle and grinned in victory. _

Withdrawing the knife from Reid's delicate throat and sheathing it, he watched the ruby-red blood bead on the doctor's pale, white skin. Watched his quarry take in deep, convulsive breaths. Watched awareness register dully in his stunningly beautiful eyes. Watched the doctor mount a sluggish counter-attack as he began to gain mounting alacrity, activating muscles torpid with self-enforced idleness. His heart fluttered in anticipation of their bodies meeting in co-rivalry; Dr. Reid's slim, rigid frame pinned beneath his own sturdy, commanding form coercing and attaining supremacy. An animalistic need flared in his groin, awaking an insatiable hunger. _Unlike the deer, Dr. Reid was no unseemly beast. _

When Hardy withdrew the knife, Reid exhaled in one long, shuddering breath. Numb with exhaustion and fear, he hadn't even felt the cold steel jab of the knife as it penetrated his skin. His body quaked as he drew much needed air into his lungs. Swallowing greedy mouthfuls of the bolstering substance, Reid opened his eyes. Darkness, cold and unforgiving met his blinking vision, and his throat, still bent backwards in his attacker's unrelenting grip, throbbed as though it had been rent asunder. For a split second, he wondered if he had only imagined taking air into his deprived lungs. He envisioned the razor-sharp edge of the blade being drawn deftly across his throat in one swift, flawless move and the blood seeping hideously from his severed neck, dyeing his once clean, white shirt a bloody red.

His body, bound in the tight confines of the cave for so long, had grown stiff and lethargic. His legs felt as though a million tiny needles were being driven into and out of them at lightning speed. His injured knee and thigh erupted in blinding pain, pulsating through his overextended body. He tried to kick out with his uninjured leg, managing an ineffectual disjointed jerk which caused him to lose balance and slip on the cave floor. His neck lurched back painfully, blurring his vision.

His shoulders burned in raw pain as his arms buckled beneath his shifted weight. Forming an indistinct fist, he threw a weak punch at the arm that continued to hold his head back. A mirthful laugh purred lightly against his ear, causing him to shiver as his assailant grasped his arm and pinned it tightly behind his back, forcing his body to come into unwelcome contact with his attacker. The even throbbing of Hardy's heartbeat hammered against Reid's chest, overriding his own quickening pace. He fought to pull his arm free, panic lending him strength. The man yanked Reid's arm upward sending a jolt of pain through him.

Choking back the sour, corrosive bile which had clawed its way out of his nerve-wracked stomach and lodged itself mid-esophagus, he mustered every ounce of strength he had left. Senses reeling, Reid attempted to pull his other arm up, but it was immobilized, pinned beneath him. Reid could not extricate his unresponsive limbs and Hardy still had his hair in a vice-like grip, painfully baring his neck to the elements. Darkness shadowed Reid's waning state of alertness and burned at the edges of his mind as he vainly pushed against his subjugation with ebbing strength, knowing that if he failed to free himself, his tormentor would first kill him and then Aiken.

Tears gathering in his eyes, he fought against the darkness that sought to free him from this nightmare. Heart beating painfully in his chest, he blinked the tears away and focused on breathing. He had to survive this, if not for himself, then for Aiken. Terror gripped him, as the air he desperately needed tore at his lungs and his body refused to comply with his increasingly frantic commands to free itself. Paralysis benumbed his body, rendering him completely immobile and at the mercy of his attacker's will, though his mind remained starkly aware of what was happening to him as though through a darkening tunnel.

Eyes smoldering with lust, Hardy shifted his attention from containing his quarry to Reid's inviting throat. Pausing to revel in the clarity of the blood which had begun to pool and spider in the wrinkled crevices of his victim's neck, he lowered his mouth and bent to taste it. Tenderly stroking the smooth, moist skin with his coarse, wet tongue, he relished the tangy quality of the blood. _Unlike his first kill, Dr. Reid titillated his senses, causing a raw heat to build deep within his gut. He must either indulge himself now by sampling of his prey or be consumed by his wonton appetite which domineered his consciousness, tyrannized his sole being, and stimulated his flesh._

At first he merely taunted his taste buds, dabbing at the bloody wound tentatively with the tip of his tongue. Taking only minimal traces of the doctor's heady, life-affirming elixir, he noted that it too, served to sharpen his senses, though more so than that of the deer. _Unlike his first conquest, Dr. Reid's blood awakened a predatory itch which had too long been suppressed._

Savoring the coppery taste of the doctor's blood, he lapped greedily at the minor wound with his tongue. Senses reeling with hunger lust, he placed his lips around the wound and began to suckle at the bruising laceration. A strangled gasp escaped his quarry's lips. Warming with pleasure, he increased the fervency with which he nursed at the torn flesh. Letting go of the doctor's hair, he cradled the back of his neck with one hand and used the other to draw the writhing doctor's torso upward, flush with his own. Pulling him slightly from the shelter of the cave, Hardy lowered him to the earth, oblivious to his strangled protests and the awkward angle at which the doctor's abused limbs bent beneath him.

Shock and confusion sent a jolt of appalled electricity through Reid and his heart slammed viciously against his rib cage when Hardy's tongue brushed his neck. His mind demanded an answer for the alien sensation that started at his throat and kindled its way through his tense nerves, setting them ablaze.

_What the hell? _Reid's dazed mind refused to believe what his abused senses were telling him. _This is not happening to me. This is not happening. This isn't real. My mind is playing tricks on me. Open your eyes damn it, wake up! Surely he was only imagining the demanding pull of full, rough lips pressed flush against his aching throat. Come on Spencer, wake up! You have to wake up. Aiken needs you. _A pained groan escaped him as Hardy's lips chafed his throat, forcing his beleaguered mind to grasp hold of the inconceivable reality that he was so desperately struggling to convince himself was not real.

He bulked, thrashing against his assailant when Hardy's unyielding arms forced their bodies to meet. He fought to remain erect, even as his body was pressed down onto the cold, stony floor of the cave. His pinned arm twisted painfully beneath him and his other arm, bereft of his weight flew out to his side as his shoulder was slammed to the hard, rocky surface. He frenetically commanded his unresponsive body to flee and when it failed to comply, he stopped fighting and wished he were somewhere else.

* * *

"_Mommy!" The monster was nearby. Aiken cried out in the darkness as the cold wind whipped at his hair and threatened to pull his glasses from his face. It was well past lunch time. He should already have returned home by now, but for some reason, no matter how hard and fast he ran; his house kept fading away from him. _

_He could see the front porch just a few feet away, almost within his reach, but each time he attempted to enter his house, it would shrink away from him. He was cold and hungry and could feel the icy blue eyes of the cruel monster, glinting in the light of the full moon, boring into him. His stomach made terrible gurgling sounds and the pain of hunger stabbed his insides like thousands of sharp knives. _

"_Braden!" He called, reaching a hand out to the retreating form of his brother. The monster's guttural breathing echoed in his ears, making him dizzy with fear. Its fetid breath stank of rotted flesh and Aiken gagged, running as far away as he could from the monstrosity. _

_It was as though he were being pulled back by some invisible force as he tried to make his way to his mother and brother on the front porch. They stood together, looking for Aiken, but not seeing him; even as he waved his arms frantically in front of them. Braden looked for him, shading his eyes with one hand. His mother cupped her hands around her mouth calling out for him, but not a sound issued from her lips. _

_Though he could not see the horrible beast, he could feel its shadowy presence and he prized one eye open to sneak a peek at it. Fearful that the beast would catch him looking, he kept his eye open a mere slit. _

_It was only a few feet away, but it seemed to have forgotten about him and was crouched low over someone else, sniffing at him with widened nostrils. Unable to tear his eye away from the grisly scene before him, Aiken watched in mounting horror as the monster shook out one of its razor sharp claws and scratched the man, making him bleed. The monster started to lick at the blood coming from the wound it had made and Aiken slammed his eye firmly shut. Pulling his head closer to his chest, he attempted to drown out the ghoulish scene. _

_He clasped his hands securely over his ears to shut out the revolting sounds as the monster ate its victim. Hot tears pricked the back of his eyelids. He knew that when the monster was finished with its meal, it would come after him. It was terribly hungry after all, hadn't it eaten his mother and brother earlier that day? _

_The memory of their blood, spilled in the kitchen and the monster standing hungrily over them invaded his mind. He forcefully pushed it away, preferring to picture them on the porch watching, waiting, and calling for him. Unwilling to remember what the monster had done to them, how the monster had broken them, how he had taken them away from him, he imagined them standing on the front porch, waving and calling out to him, oblivious to the monster which lurked nearby. _

_Wishing he could go home, wishing he could wake up from this nightmare, wishing that his mom would pick him up and smother him with one of her extra big hugs which always made him feel better, he lulled himself into a fitful trance-like state. Waiting for the monster to devour him, he kept up a shaky mantra of, "Monsters do not exist…monsters do not exist…monsters do not exist…" _

_Braden had told him that one night, when he thought there was one lurking beneath his bed. He had been too scared to leave the safety of his bed, but Braden had grabbed a flashlight and crawled into bed with him. He had rubbed his back, assuring him that monsters did not exist. He had even, much to Aiken's horror, flashlight in hand, jumped down from the bed. Crouching low, he had swept the light under it and had declared it to be monster free. Then, he had climbed back into bed and sat with him, rubbing his back until he fell asleep. _

* * *

No longer satisfied with the taste of the younger man's blood alone, Hardy positioned himself between the man's bent knees, so that the doctor unwittingly straddled his kneeling form. He freed Reid's pinned arm from beneath him, evoking a sigh of amelioration from the young man. He lowered his face to the doctor's, gazing intently into his timorous eyes, putting his hands on either side of the man's face, forcing him to look into his eyes when he attempted to escape his scrutiny.

"Don't close your eyes doctor," he growled low in warning, freeing one hand to unsheathe his knife and press the tip of it into the young man's side. He smiled when the fearful, amber eyes snapped open, once again looking into his own. Turned on by the younger man's nearly imperceptible flinch, he traced Reid's trembling lips with a graceful, yet assertive finger, while continuing to apply steady pressure against his side with the knife.

"Move again and the knife could slip," Hardy taunted when Reid jerked away from his touch, "I'd hate to mar that fine physique of yours before we've had our fun." His finger resumed its leisurely perusal of the contours of the lush lips which quivered beneath his tender graze of their full, pallid features. Hardy wondered at their exquisite beauty, chiseled in perfection. He imagined them with a fine blush of color, plump from exertion rather than dulled as they were with fear and exhaustion.

He tugged at the lower lip, teasing the lips apart with his index finger. Voluptuous and virginal, they roused Hardy's thirst and he inserted his finger, groping, prizing at the teeth to gain entrance. When the doctor refused him entry, he dug the knife sharply into his side without drawing blood and Reid gasped in pain, allowing him access. He probed the mouth with his index finger, grazing playfully over the doctor's tongue before pulling his finger out and placing it in his own mouth, luxuriating in the saccharine taste.

Reid balked at the nearness of Hardy, trying to pull away from him when he positioned himself between his bent knees. _Get away, get away, get away!..._his panicked mind grasped for some control over his uncooperative mouth, desperately needing to be heard by the monster who loomed over him. When Hardy freed his pinned arm, his mouth once again demonstrated disobedience by expressing relief. _Get away from me! _He attempted again, the frantic words reverberating in his mind, in bold red letters, as his mouth opened and his vocal chords failed to capitulate. _Why couldn't he even make his own mouth respond?_

Ice blue eyes pierced his, searching, wanting. Yearning, they pulled at his mind, freezing his thoughts as they threatened to consume him with their hunger. He looked away, only to have rough hands wrest his head in place. Not able to bear the scrutinizing gaze any longer, Reid closed his eyes. The memory of the steely blue orbs emblazoned in graphic detail, hovered, faceless in his mind. Hardy's commanding voice and the sharp jab of a knife against his side forced Reid to open his eyes.

_Oh God no,_ Hardy's finger was caressing his lips, _Stop! Stop! Stop! _Reid wrenched his head away, unmindful of the knife pressing into his ribcage until Hardy nudged it against him. Hardy's taunting words echoed in his mind, numbing him, _"…the knife could slip…before we've had our fun…the knife could slip…the knife could slip…the knife could slip…before we've had our fun…before we've had our fun…before…fun…"_ His vision swam and he breathed through his nose, ordering his heart to stop racing in an attempt to regain control over at least one aspect of his body. He submitted to Hardy's manipulation of his lips, hesitating when the man's finger demanded entry into his mouth.

A sharp dig of the knife had him gasping for air and Hardy's finger gained entry, stroking his tongue. Reid resisted the urge to bite down on the finger, knowing that such an act would result in the knife plunging deep into his side. He forced his face to remain neutral when Hardy pulled his finger out and placed it into his own mouth, sucking on it, a revolting look of pleasure on his face causing Reid's stomach to churn.

Desiring more, Hardy placed greedy lips on the doctor's mouth, bearing down on him. His lips, hot and needy pressed against Reid's. He nibbled playfully at the younger man's bottom lip. Alternating between the bottom and upper portion of Reid's mouth, he pulled and sucked on the unresponsive lips until they became pliant and warmed under his persistent demands. Forcing the younger man's lips apart with his own ravenous ones, he shared a breath with the doctor before manipulating the now supple lips with his own in the semblance of a kiss. Desperate for entrance, he drove his tongue into Reid's mouth.

Lips locked on Reid's, Hardy allowed his tongue to roam the younger man's mouth. Gasping and sputtering with pain when the seemingly yielded doctor bit down hard on his tongue, he pulled out. Rolling the abused tongue around in his mouth, he tasted the tangy, coppery blood, sucking on it.

Seething, he glared down at the younger man and slapped him, hard, happy when the doctor had to turn his head to spit out blood. He pinched Reid's chin cruelly in fingers bent on causing pain and raised the man's head up, sneering into his flushed face, "Do that again and I will gut you," he promised in a whisper, drawing the blade across Reid's cheek, carving a thin red line in the otherwise unblemished skin, "Do you understand?" He released Reid's chin, letting his head fall back to the rock littered cave floor when the doctor jerkily nodded.

_Stop! Please stop…_Reid's mind begged as Hardy's foul lips touched his. He wanted to push the man away, but knew that if he did, he would be stabbed. _I don't want this. Please don't._ He felt tears pushing at the back of his eyes, but refused to let them fall.

Reid cringed at the shock as their tongues met and the part of his mind that stubbornly insisted that this was not happening was instantly overruled. _Oh God no! No! _Reid bit down hard on Hardy's invading tongue, in spite of his fear of the man's knife. _No,no,no,no,no…what have I done? _Terror at what his assaulter would do to him as the man pulled his tongue out of his mouth mounted when he saw the look of anger that darkened the man's features.

The slap that Hardy delivered drew blood from where his teeth bit the edge of his tongue and cheek. Stars, bright, whirled in a canvas of darkness, temporarily stealing his vision as he turned his head to spit out the acrid blood that had quickly gathered in his mouth.

Panting in fear, as Hardy's bruising grip brought his face up, he steeled himself for the burning pain he was sure would erupt in his side. _I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…I'll be good…I promise…I won't do that again…just…just please…don't hurt me…don't hurt me…I promise I'll be good…_He mutely promised, humiliated by his childlike pleas.

When Hardy drew the knife across his cheek, he didn't even feel the blade slice through his skin, tension robbing him of normal sensation. He stared in fascination at the thin line of blood glistening on the edge of the knife, heart beating rapidly in his chest, wondering what Hardy was going to do to him next. _Sorry….sorry….sorry…_rebounded in his muddled mind.

His head slammed against the stones of the cave floor when Hardy released his chin and he once again felt stars prickle at the edge of his conscious. _Sorry…_Hardy's hateful visage swam in front of his face once again, the look of consuming desire in his eyes had Reid dazedly scrambling, at least in his mind, to get away from his captor only to have the man pin him to the ground with his weight as he placed hot, lustful lips on his mouth.

Watching the emotions play over the doctor's flushed cheeks, Hardy imagined what it would be like to have him in his bed, completely bent to his will._ The memory of his uncle's pride as he made his first kill, their culminating celebration of the event afterward, and the mounting of the deer head over the fireplace all faded in glory when compared to the thrill that coursed through his veins right now as he watched the doctor try to compose himself. He pictured him in his bed, compliant beneath him as he exhausted himself making love to his lithe figure._

This small taste of Dr. Reid barely served as an appetizer for his hunger, but it would tide him over until he could transport the doctor and the boy who continued to huddle in a dark corner of the cave to his home.

He once again placed probing lips against Reid's set mouth, determined to establish dominance, the picture of the doctor lying beneath him on his bed spurring him on to conquer the young FBI agent. Using his tongue, he entered Reid's mouth, forcefully prying the closed lips apart. He used his tongue to explore the doctor's mouth, brushing against the smooth, yet uneven ridges of his teeth, savoring the briny taste of his tongue, he sucked on it, coaxing it into his mouth, reveling at the valiant, yet futile resistance he received. He drank deeply before returning the tongue, rejoicing in the tart taste of blood that lingered in the doctor's mouth. He marveled at the younger man's sensitivity as tremors wracked the slender body. Wrapping his arms around the doctor, he quelled the younger man's resistance, allowing him no room to move as their bodies became intertwined in the facsimile of a lover's embrace.

His own tongue lingered, exploring the back of the young man's throat, the roof of his mouth, the smoothness of his cheeks. He began to familiarize himself with the doctor's mouth, noting how the thin angular look of his jaw belied the inviting cavernous depths within. Laboring with his tongue, he thrilled when the doctor's body betrayed itself and responded with a shiver of humiliated pleasure as his body started to reply to Hardy's invasion in similitude, unintentionally returning and deepening the undesired kiss.

He had known, since he had first laid eyes on the delicate, lissome body of the young doctor, that this very moment would happen; that Dr. Reid would crave him as much as he did. That by sheer power of his will alone, he could make the doctor ache for him. That he could take pleasure from and give pleasure to the attractive young, virile body as no one else would ever be able to. He was the only one for Dr. Reid, and he would prove it to the man over time. He nibbled on his lower lip before pulling back, allowing him to breathe.

In spite of his terror-strengthened efforts, Reid's tongue was eventually drawn away from his own mouth and into his attacker's. _No! _His hitched sob was drowned out as Hardy guided his less experienced tongue on a tour of his mouth. _Stop! _He attempted to push away with his feet, sending billows of pain through his body, reminders of the injuries to his thigh and knee. _Get off of me!_ He was trapped. He struggled to breathe; gagging as the brute mutely swallowed his tongue. _No…no….no….no…no…no…no…no….no…no…no…no…no…no…no…no…no…no…please…no…let me go!_

He tried to push away, but was drawn closer as the violation of his mouth continued undaunted by his efforts. _Stop, please, please stop! I don't want this. _Arms wrapped around him like a straight jacket. _Stop! _Sure, capable hands fiendishly cupped his lower back, pushing his hips closer to his abuser, oddly massaging his strained muscles with each demanding pull on his mouth. Finally, his assailant released his tongue, but continued the invasion of his mouth. _Stop….stop…_

Reid's body betrayed him by responding to Hardy's demands on it. His groin heated as if in anticipation of sex and his mouth responded to the pull of Hardy's lips and tongue by returning his abuser's kiss. _No,no,no,no,no….oh God no! This is not happening…this is not happening….this is __**not**__ happening…what is wrong with me? I don't want this... I don't want this…I __**don't **__want this…_tears streamed down his face as his body continued its act of self-degradation in response to Hardy's manipulation.

"You like this don't you doctor? I knew you wanted this from the moment I first saw you," the mumbled voice of his accuser barely reached his ears, as the words mingled on his lips with the deepening kiss. _I… I didn't want it…I didn't…_Shame colored his cheeks and coursed through his body as he fought to quell the urges which had been solicited by Hardy's expert hands and mouth.

When he was finally released, Reid trembled in fear and shame. The persistent swelling of his groin refusing to be curbed, he dared not to meet his assailant's eyes. _I didn't…I didn't want this…_The acrid taste of Hardy, the smell of his sweaty need, and the knowledge of the man's mouth still fresh in his mind, he turned his head away, gagging. _I didn't want this…_His stomach made an abortive attempt to empty itself on the cave floor and he dry-heaved onto the unforgiving stone. His gut clenched in agony as a lacerating spasm tore through him.

His back was pressed painfully against the hard, rocky surface of the earth. Wet, heated kisses peppered his neck. Deft fingers unbuttoned his shirt, baring his chest to the cold elements. _No, this is not happening. _Reid closed his eyes tight against the darkness as the skilled fingers traveled from his neck, along his bare chest, to the waistband of his slacks. _This is not happening. Things like this do not happen to FBI agents. This is not real. This is not happening. This can't be happening. Please stop…I don't want this…I don't want this…no….no…no…no…no…stop…please stop…I don't want this…I don't…_

"Shhh," Hardy pressed a finger to Reid's trembling lips as his mental protests bubbled forth in frantic whispers. He lowered his mouth to Reid's, swallowing the younger man's nearly inaudible objections with a fervent kiss.

"Shhh," Hardy mumbled against Reid's parted lips, weaving his fingers through the doctor's brown silky hair, he deepened the kiss. He allowed his other hand to travel downward, along the outside of Reid's pants, delighting in the coarse texture of them. He methodically rubbed his hand along the inner part of Reid's thigh imagining that the doctor lay open and bare to him without the constrictive barrier of clothing between them. _All in due time._

* * *

_The low, rasping growls of the monster reached Aiken's ears and he crushed his hands tighter against them. Wishing that Braden were here to soothe him and shine his light to make the monster go away, Aiken clung to his words of assurance, "Monsters do not exist…monsters do not exist…monsters do not exist…" Maybe if he said it often enough, the monster would disappear. But monsters did exist, there was living proof only a few feet away and Braden himself had been devoured by one. Wishing he could be as brave as his older brother, Aiken pressed his hands even harder against his ears, though it pained him. Biting his lower lip, he scrunched into a smaller ball, hoping the monster wouldn't see him._

* * *

_This isn't real, _Reid assured himself, even as Hardy's mouth bore down on his, drowning out his protests, sending his body conflicting messages as pleasure and mortification collided and vied for dominance over him. His body bucked upward in response to the hand that Hardy rubbed along his inner thigh. A moan of delight mingled with self-loathing escaped through his occupied lips, burned his loins. _This isn't real. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. This isn't happening. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. Someone, please make him stop. Please, please make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Please…please…please…please….please….make it stop… make it stop ... stop … stop… please …stop...please stop…please stop…please…please…please…stop…please…_

Hardy pulled away from the kiss, grinning in amusement as Reid babbled soundlessly, panting beneath him. The young man's cheeks were pink from exertion, his lips tender and bruised, his eyes haunted and unfocused.

Straddling Reid's naked torso, Hardy took hold of his hand-carved hunting knife, expertly using the tip of it to trace the features of the doctor's smooth, angelic face. _It would be so easy to mar the perfect, unblemished porcelain skin, make a scratch along his other cheek to match the one he had made earlier. So easy to tarnish the attractive figure beneath him with his own tainted flesh. So easy to strip him of the vestiges of his innocence. No, he wouldn't take him here, though he longed to complete his exploration of the doctor's body, he would wait until he was alone with him. Though the Aiken brat continued to huddle in the corner, curled around himself like a kitten, unaware of what was happening around him, he wanted to experience Dr. Reid in complete solitude in the sanctity of his own bed. _

_Excitement, like that of a child on Christmas morning seeing beautifully wrapped presents overflowing beneath a glowing tree, stole his breath away. The anticipation of unwrapping Dr. Reid, a present meant only for him, stirred up butterflies of excitement in his stomach. He longed to uncover the matchless, well-wrapped delicacies little-by-little. To master each and every delicate intricacy of the man who wept silently beneath him. To reveal the gift, which had so magnanimously been bestowed upon him, carefully, meticulously unwrapping the finely adorned package that was Dr. Reid, bit-by-bit._

"There's plenty of time to make you mine Dr. Reid," he planted a kiss on the man's forehead; "no one will be looking for you here." Sheathing the knife, he moved from the man's torso. Straightening Reid's bent knees, he straddled his hips.

It was getting harder to breath, Hardy 's weight all but cut off his air supply, making it difficult for Reid to take the precious air into his oxygen-starved lungs. _Please, please help me. It hurts, oh God it hurts…I can't breathe…I can't breathe…It hurts…Get off me… I can't breathe! _He voicelessly screamed in mind numbing pain, stars shooting through the blackness that refused to allow him to find solace within its inky depths. Shuddering with cold and shock; Reid retreated into the safety of his mind, pulling in on himself. He attempted to shrink away from Hardy. Wishing he could disappear, Reid closed his eyes as Hardy shifted his weight, straddling his hips, allowing Reid to take in deeper breaths of the oxygen that had temporarily been denied him.

* * *

_Aiken couldn't help it, when the sounds from the monster quieted, he cracked an eye open to see if the monster had finished its meal and was coming for him. "Monsters do not exist…monsters do not exist…" he faltered as the famished monster bent itself over its prey, once again licking and tasting, biting into the soft flesh._

_Snapping his eye shut once more, one of the tears he had been holding back streaked down his dirt-encrusted face. "Monsters do exist Braden…they do…they do…and this one is going to get me and eat me…"_

* * *

A strange, hitching sound captured Reid's attention, temporarily diverting his focus from what was happening to his own imprisoned body. In a darkened corner of the cave lay Aiken. Reid had almost forgotten about him. Small and vulnerable; he was curled up tight in a ball.

Reid wanted to reach out and comfort the small boy, but his body was no longer his own to do with as he pleased. It lay broken and trapped beneath a man whose demands commanded appalling responses from it. _At least he hasn't…oh God…don't…don't…don't…NO! No! No! Don't! Stop!_

_Dr. Reid's body was ready for him, he could feel it. His own body was primed_, _why wait any longer? He hadn't waited to take that deer down. Why should he wait to take Dr. Reid?_ Hardy fumbled with the button on the doctor's slacks. His fingers suddenly fidgety with impatience, the zipper stuck halfway. Anger and need escalating, he let out a growl of frustration, tugging at the zipper which refused to budge.

"Dr. Reid!".............................................................."Spencer!"........................................................................."Aiken!"

............................................."Dr. Reid!"........................................................."Aiken!"

.........."Spencer!".............................................."Aiken Randall!"

Loud cries split the night air, breaking Hardy's concentration, angering him. Alerted to the nearness of his rivals, he reluctantly removed his hand from Dr. Reid's waistband. Unsheathing his knife, and withdrawing his gun, he threatened the bewildered man and cringing boy to remain quiet. Maneuvering Dr. Reid's body awkwardly into the cave, he placed branches over the entrance in an attempt to recreate Aiken's camouflage before crouching off to the side to wait for the trespassers.

"Dr. Reid!" _Damn, why wasn't he answering?_ Rossi stood, the beam of his flashlight playing in first one, then another direction as he searched for the doctor and young boy.

"Aiken!" Prentiss tried again, voice carrying and breaking on the wind.

"Dr. Reid! Spencer!" Peters called from another direction.

"Aiken! Dr. Reid!" The hairs on the back of Carter's neck stood up, w_hat was that? _A muffled noise reached his straining ears. Itching with nervous tension, he squatted, clenching his gun in a sweaty palm, he cast a wary glance around the shaded forest. _There it was again. It almost sounded like the soft mewl of a kitten._ Eyes narrowed in concentration, he inched toward the sound, oblivious to the smarting of his tense muscles. Oblivious to the stark eyes that stalked him and the gun trained unwaveringly on his stealthy form, he continued forward, determined to find the source of the sound and hopefully Dr. Reid and Aiken.


	21. A Time to Kill

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

A Time to Kill

"In films murders are always very clean. I show how difficult it is and what a messy thing it is to kill a man." - Alfred Hitchcock (1899 - 1980)

* * *

_There was that sound again_. Carter stopped and listened, _it was fainter now. _Squinting his eyes, Carter inched closer to the noise which he was sure was coming from the brush ahead of him. Eyes adjusting to the darkness of the forest floor, he softly called, "Dr. Reid? Aiken?" Listening, ears straining to filter out the chatter of the night animals, he could just make out a dulcet whimper which differed from the rest of the whispers in the night.

"Dr. Reid? Aiken? Have you been hurt?" He tentatively called, reasoning that if they had been hurt or if the person who had killed Billy were with them, they might not be able to answer him. Still, calling out gave him something to do and it might just give those he called out to a measure of hope if they could hear him.

A soft crunch on the forest floor drew his attention to the right and made the fine hairs at the back of his neck stand up. Training his eyes where he thought the disturbance had come from; he fumbled with the flashlight still fastened to his utility belt. He hadn't needed it when their search party had been more of a unit, but now, with each of them branching off into different areas expanding the search, he pulled it out and aimed it in the direction he was looking.

The flickering light bounced off leaves wet from the recent storm before petering out completely without revealing the source of the noise which had drawn his attention. _Damn_, he banged the flashlight on the ground hoping to restore the beam, _forgot to recharge the batteries._ Returning the dead flashlight to his utility belt, he peered into the trees, trying unsuccessfully to pick out the source of the disturbance.

* * *

The beam of her flashlight bounced off the leaves of the trees and the weathered roots which snaked dangerously around her ankles, casting the forest in an eerie half-light. Stumbling over yet another root, the flashlight fell from her hand as a jarring pain shot through her.

"Crap," she muttered, bending to retrieve the flashlight and rub at her rapidly swelling ankle. Carter was a hundred yards off to her left, Peters a hundred yards ahead of her, and Rossi a hundred to the left of Carter. The search party had broken up to search in quadrants and, though each of them were within calling distance of one another, she didn't want to draw anyone's attention from the primary task of locating Reid and Aiken to attend her.

Assuring herself that the ankle wasn't broken, she picked up the flashlight and resumed her sweep of the area around her, careful to keep off her injured foot. Nothing but trees, leaves, roots, and dirt, and darkness beyond met her examination.

"Dr. Reid?" She listened to the night sounds, hoping that her colleague would return her call. If the unsub who had killed the clerk was holding the doctor and missing boy, she knew that the FBI agent would most likely be unable to call out to her, but she still had to try.

"Aiken?" She called and waited. Nothing but the sounds of the wind crashing through the trees, the warbled hoot of a lone owl, and the rustling of small night creatures met her strained ears. _Were they even out there? What if they were on nothing more than a fool's errand? What if Reid and the missing boy had already been killed or what if they had already made it out of the woods and had gained access to the road beyond? They could be miles away and searching for them here could be a waste of time as well as resources._

* * *

Rossi stood still, allowing the beam of his flashlight to march slowly to the left and then to the right as he searched the darkness for a sign that his young colleague and Aiken were somewhere in the vicinity. Closing his eyes, he focused solely on the art of listening. Hearing the familiar sigh of the wind through the trees and dismissing it to the background, hearing the rustling of mice and other nocturnal beings in the underbrush and pushing those too to the back of his mind, he distinguished the nuances of each sound one after another until he had ushered every one of them into its rightful place and was able to truly listen for any sound that was out of the ordinary.

It was something that he had practiced when he had played, 'blind man's bluff,' and 'hide-and-go-seek,' as a child. His uncanny ability to recognize and then reduce each sound he heard to a low buzz at the back of his mind had enabled him to pick up on his friends' breathing patterns or the shuffling of their feet as he searched for them in mock blindness. He had been crowned, 'champion,' of both games numerous times and had never revealed the true secret to his success. Never letting on that honing his superb listening skills was the key.

The nearby snapping of a twig forced his eyes open and he played the ray of the flashlight to his left. A masked raccoon froze momentarily in the glare of the light and then quickly scampered away. Chuckling, Rossi took a cautious step forward.

* * *

Peters circled around, taking his time to cover every inch of his quadrant, not wanting to miss anything. He knew that time was of the essence, but also that rushing through a search would be of little help to Dr. Reid and Aiken. A proper search took time and patience. He wished they had had time to bring in some bloodhounds to aid in the search and knew that if their current search was unsuccessful, that would be the next step. He hoped it wouldn't come to that as their quarry would more than likely be dead at that point.

Sensing that he was not alone, Peters clicked his flashlight off and crouched. Using some low branches as camouflage, he peered out into the night, allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. He willed his body to relax and stilled his breathing, making it even and regular, trying to make it barely discernable so that it could not be heard above the wind.

Resting his hand on the butt of his weapon, he searched the darkness with his eyes, keeping his movements to a bare minimum. Not wanting to give himself away if he were being watched by the same man who had killed Billy or simply a wild animal whose territory he had encroached upon, he consciously made each move and took each breath deliberately.

Instinctually, he hunkered down, making himself an even smaller target should an attack be launched. He had no idea where the man who had killed Billy was, but was not going to be taking any chances. He knew in his gut that someone or something was nearby and was determined to figure out who or what it was. He had been a police officer for the past twenty years and had come to rely on his instincts; they had saved his life and the lives of others on numerous occasions. He knew they wouldn't fail him now.

* * *

Hardy watched the officer closest to him, closest to finding Dr. Reid and Aiken. He looked to be about Dr. Reid's age, but was shorter and more muscular than the doctor. He also had darker hair and a complexion marred by the tell-tale pockmarks of youthful acne. The burning in his groin had not lessened and he was more than a little outraged that a search party, small as it was, had interrupted his playtime with his conquest.

_True, he would be able to have more uninterrupted time with the doctor when they were far away from here and in the safety of his cabin, but still, it was simply appalling that his time had been cut short and when they were nearly at the apex_.

Putting his gun away, he stalked the young officer with his eyes, running the blade of his knife along his thumb, pricking it. Bringing his thumb up to his mouth, he savored the tang of the saltiness on his tongue, missing the headier taste of the doctor's blood.

_Hand-to-hand combat would do more than help assuage his burning groin; it would whet his appetite for the young doctor who was the antithesis of the man who now captured his attention. Killing this young officer would be a pleasure and a blessing. _Giddy with excitement, Hardy grinned in anticipation of the struggle, hoping that the officer would be a worthy opponent.

* * *

Carter shivered in the cool night air as he inched toward the brush in front of him. Ignoring the prickling sensation that he was being watched and stalked, he shook it off in favor of his gut belief that Dr. Reid and Aiken were just a stone's throw away from him. If he could just get to them and determine whether they were safe and alone or not, he would be able to call out to the other searchers for help if necessary.

His legs felt like they were on fire as he prepared to stand and shake out the pins and needles which had taken up residence in them due to his self-imposed crouch. He felt silly as he once again brushed off the feeling that eyes were boring into him, plotting his death. _Get a grip, this is ridiculous, you're not some hunter's prey. If the same man who killed Billy is here, he is holding Dr. Reid and Aiken hostage, not stalking me._

* * *

Prentiss bit back a cry of pain as she stumbled forward, using branches to help support her as she continued to look for Reid and the missing boy. Her ankle was throbbing and was swollen to nearly twice its original size.

"Dr. Reid, can you hear me?" Her voice sounded weak to her own ears and the final words hitched up at the end as a wave of pain rolled over her. Stopping, she rested her forehead against the trunk of a tree and lifted up the foot of her injured ankle. The movement stole her breath and sent her heart hammering its way forcefully up into her throat. _Was she sweating?_

Knowing that it would be of little use for her to continue the search physically, she lowered herself to the base of the tree she had used for support and sat down. Propping the swollen ankle on a particularly large root, she waited until the pain subsided before once again probing the injury for telltale signs of a break. _Maybe she had missed something earlier._

Hissing at the pain, she leaned back as stars exploded in her vision and her head swam. _Damn, it was a break._

Floundering with the flashlight she panned it to the left of her, searching for Carter as he was more than likely the closest to her. Peters was probably much further ahead as her ankle had slowed her down considerably more than she had expected it would.

Gathering her breath, she called out into the darkness, impenetrable beyond the arc of the beam of her flashlight, "Carter!"

* * *

Stopping to listen once again, Rossi's eyes followed the beam of his flashlight before sighing in defeat when it revealed nothing more than forest foliage. He closed his eyes and listened, blocking out the sounds of the forest around him.

"Dr. Reid!" He waited three heartbeats.

"Aiken!" He waited three more. An owl hooted in response.

_Dr. Reid and Aiken were not here. The unsub who had killed the clerk at the gas station was not here. _Turning away, Rossi began making his way toward Carter, guided by his flashlight. _Maybe Carter and the others are having better luck than I am. If not, it was time to call off the search until daylight._

* * *

Peters could hear breathing nearby. His palms grew sweaty, his mouth dry. It sounded like there were two people; one's breathing was uneven and hitched, the other's shallow and labored. Like the two were involved in a wrestling match.

"Dr. Reid?" He risked calling out, "Aiken? Are you there? It's okay, my name is Officer Peters, I'm here to help you. Officer Carter, Agent Prentiss, Agent Rossi, and I have been looking for you. If you're able to, please let me know where you are." Nothing, no response, just the twinned strained breathing greeted his ears. He pulled his gun out of its holster. It was clear to him that maybe Billy's killer was the reason why Dr. Reid and Aiken had not answered him.

* * *

It had taken several painstaking minutes for him to work his way close enough to his target. Each movement he made was calculatedly matched to that of the officer. When the officer moved, Hardy moved. When his eyes searched the darkness, he stayed still. When the officer's eyes moved away, Hardy inched forward. It was like a game of cat-and-mouse. Hardy was childishly enjoying every minute of it. It would almost be a pity to bring the game to an end.

Hardy's smile grew wider as he quietly snuck up behind the officer and tapped him once on the shoulder. He had to bite back a laugh when the officer brushed at the tap as though it had merely been the tug of a branch on his uniform. The officer was aware of the presence of a predator, much like the deer Hardy had hunted in his youth, but, unlike the deer, he doubted his own instincts. Not that it would make much of a difference. In the end, Hardy always made his kill.

* * *

Carter brushed at a branch that had poked his shoulder. At the moment, he felt like one of those deer that his father, and reluctantly, he had hunted when he was younger. Sometimes, more often than not, they had known they were being hunted. He remembered, with crystal-sharp clarity, the first and only deer he had ever shot.

_He had sighted the young single-point buck and would have been content to simply watch it through the sight on his rifle as it dined on the sweet patch of grass that it had found and let it go. It was his father, after all, who enjoyed the act of killing, not he. Unfortunately, his father had also spied the young buck and noticed that he had it in his sights. Grasping him by the shoulder, his father painfully squeezed it and leaned close to whisper into his ear. _

"_Now's your chance son, prove to me you're a man, take the shot," his father's breath, hot in his ear unnerved him and it took all of the self-control that he could muster not to jerk away from him. His father's hand rested heavily on his shoulder as he continued to watch the deer through the sight. He knew that he really didn't have a choice; he was an excellent shot and knew that his father would never believe that he could miss a shot at such a close range. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he silently prayed that the deer would spook and run away or move somewhere so that he would no longer have a clear shot at it._

_Instead, the deer looked right at him, as though it had heard his frantic prayer. It did not spook or run away as Carter had hoped, but stared at him in curiosity, as though it knew what was about to happen and was helpless to do anything about it. Run you stupid deer, run! Don't you understand that you're about to die? He had silently pleaded with the animal. Still it continued to stare at him, absentmindedly flicking its ear as a fly landed on it, but making no other move to preserve its life. _

"_Take the shot son," his father's harsh whisper shattered his concentrated prayer, sending a shiver down his spine, causing his gut to clench in anxiety. His father's fingers dug painfully into his shoulder. The deer bowed its head and Carter squinted his eyes shut as he fired his weapon, the recoil punching him painfully in the shoulder. His father released the painful grip he had held his son with and clapped his hand on his back in pride._

"_Well done son, nice clean shot," they both stood, Carter on shaky legs. His father led the way to the downed deer. The shot had hit it square in the chest and felled it, but it was not yet dead. It watched the men approach, a look of shock, pain, and, to Carter, accusation, in its wild eyes. Terror also glazed its eyes as its breathing grew increasingly labored._

"_Go ahead son, end its suffering," his father had patted him on the back, his jovial voice in stark contrast to how Carter felt. Carter fought down the bile that stung his throat as he reloaded his weapon. He wouldn't have had to end the gentle creature's suffering if he hadn't shot it in the first place, he ruefully thought. Why hadn't he just missed the shot on purpose? The deer would have taken off, not giving his dad enough time to react and shoot. It would still be alive instead of lying at his feet panting, slowly bleeding to death. _

_It made a valiant, last ditch effort to rise, surprise and fear etching its features when its slender limbs failed to comply. The increased beating of its heart sent more blood gushing from its chest wound and onto the green grass, painting its deathbed a slick red._

_A single shot echoed through the still morning, startling Carter who had just raised his rifle. His father, impatient, ended the creature's suffering with a shot between the eyes which continued to stare up at Carter. He watched as their light dimmed and faded away, leaving the eyes a dull black in color. He barely registering his father's grunted directions for hauling the deer home as he continued to stare at the lifeless eyes which mirrored his own sorrow-filled ones back at him. _

"Carter!" A voice calling to him broke through his musings, he was nearly at the entrance of what appeared to be a small cave, which he was sure was the source of the strange mewling sounds he had heard earlier. Reluctantly, he turned his head in the direction of the call.

He could hear Peters calling out to Dr. Reid and Aiken. The other officer was nearby, but not near enough to help him. His heart momentarily stopped beating and his throat stopped working. He knew that his only chance, their only chance would be for him to call out a warning to Peters, but he couldn't seem to get his lungs working. _Maybe that is why the deer hadn't run when it had had the chance, maybe it had wanted to, much like Carter wanted to shout or run or anything other than stare dumbstruck into the penetrating blue eyes of the man he instantly knew had killed Billy and quite possibly had been responsible for the recent string of deaths in the area, including the death of young Aiken's brother and mother. Maybe it hadn't run when it had the chance to because it had been paralyzed by the knowledge that it was staring, not merely at a hunter, but at death itself._

Prentiss called out to Carter again, wondering why he hadn't shouted in return, "Carter?" She attempted to stand, but the pain in her ankle toppled her. Panting, she closed her eyes, and gritting her teeth repositioned her injured leg to rest once again on the protruding root.

"Carter!" _Had he found Reid and the missing boy? Is that why he wasn't answering her? Or had something happened to the young officer?_

"Carter!" She tried once more and waited. Knowing that something wasn't right, she bit her lower lip and started heading in the direction Carter had been positioned to search in. Dragging her injured leg along, she half-crab-crawled backward, using her arms and good leg to propel her along the uneven ground.

"Carter!" Rossi called as he neared the area the officer had been searching. He was eager to reassess the parameters of their search. _Perhaps the officer had found Dr. Reid and Aiken or had come across the gas station clerk's killer and that is why he wasn't answering. Or maybe Dr. Reid and Aiken were being held at gunpoint and the officer was attempting to negotiate their release. Or maybe he was just too far out to hear his call._

"Dr. Reid! Aiken!" He tried yet again, waiting half a heartbeat before marching forward, closer to where Carter should be. The beam of his flashlight danced along the silvery trunks of the trees, bathing the forest in a ghostly light which did little to illuminate his path. They _would have to call it a night and resume the search in the light of day, it was too dark and the searchers, much as he hated to admit it to himself, would be needing rest. Those they searched for would not be benefited by them collapsing from exhaustion or wandering blindly through the forest. The light of day would be best for them all. He just hoped that Dr. Reid and Aiken had until the light of day._

Peters held his gun in front of him, knowing that he should probably call for backup. Knowing that there would not be enough time for the backup to arrive, he chose to continue his pursuit of Billy's killer on his own. _True, he couldn't be sure that he had found the killer and that the man was holding Dr. Reid and Aiken captive, but that is what his gut was telling him and he trusted his gut._

The mismatched breathing he had heard earlier continued to increase in volume and he carefully made his way toward the sound. A strangled cry, carried off by the wind, fractured the night and Peters gripped his gun tighter as he crept forward.

Grinning toothily at his prey who crouched frozen before him, Hardy cocked his head to the side and drew the back of his knife across his neck and grimaced while signaling with his pointer finger for the man to remain quiet. There was another officer close by and Hardy didn't want him to be alerted to their presence.

The officer was frozen in place, the briny smell of fear radiated from him and his brown eyes were wide with panic. They held a knowing look in them, much as Dr. Reid's had when he realized the inevitable, that he would be unable to escape death.

Hardy could see that the officer wanted to call out a warning to his partner, but couldn't seem to find his voice. The futile bobbing of the man's jugular, his inability to issue forth a single sound and the reddening of his face at the frustrated humiliation amused Hardy.

He reached out a hand and grasped the officer behind the neck, pulling him forward. Using his other hand, Hardy deftly twisted the man around so that his back was to him. He placed a calloused hand over the officer's mouth and snaked his other arm around the man's throat. He whispered a chilling, "Shh…" in the man's ear and was rewarded with an elbow to his gut. A gust of breath, escaped his lips and he tightened his chokehold, bringing the tip of the knife up under the officer's chin, "Do that again and I will cut you," his whispering lips caressed the officer's ear causing the younger man's body to shiver.

Hardy's groin, hardened from his encounter with Dr. Reid, jerked in stimulated response as the officer continued to struggle against him. The young man's breathing became labored as he attempted to take in breath around Hardy's hand and Hardy drew the struggling man closer, melding his body to his own as he continued to deprive the man's lungs of oxygen. The hand he held over the young man's mouth had a sheen of moisture coating it, making it feel hot and clammy.

He rocked their bodies backwards not loosening his hold on the officer's neck or over his mouth. Ignoring the twisted root digging into his lower back, he straddled the officer and flipped him over, pulling the knife out and away and planting it into the dirt directly in front of the young man's eyes, now screwed tightly shut in pain and terror.

The officer continued to struggle for air and attempted to push himself up off the ground with his arms. When that failed, he tried to reach back and pull Hardy's hand from his mouth. Hardy leaned down, pressing his body tight to the officer's, he admired the firmness of the young man's body and the fight he was putting up for his life, however vain it would prove to be.

His crotch aching in need, Hardy bit his bottom lip and pressed closer to the body beneath him. He pushed his lips against the young man's ear, "Though I would love to play more, I'm afraid that our time has to be cut short, your partner might discover us and that would spoil all the fun."

He pulled the officer's head up off the ground, moving so that he straddled the man's upper back, and finally released his hold over his mouth. Allowing him to gain one last full breath of fresh air, he snaked one arm around the front of his neck and used the other to twist and snap the officer's neck.

Carter writhed and bucked beneath the man who had him pinned to the earth in an attempt to free himself even as it got harder to breathe. His assailant's whispered words didn't register. He focused solely on taking oxygen into his aching lungs. The man's body pressed too tightly against his own reminded him of his wrestling days and Carter strived to throw him off, trying desperately to remember some of his wrestling moves around the ever increasing edge of darkness which threatened to claim his consciousness.

Blinking at the white and gold stars dancing in front of his eyes as his lungs lost their battle for oxygen, Carter realized that he was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. _Why had he frozen up when he had the chance to call out to Peters? Maybe if he would have been more alert, he could have gotten away from the man who now had him pinned so effectively, the man whom he would forfeit his life to._

It came as a surprise to him when his burning lungs were able to pull in the cool night air. Tasting the loam and clay of the dirt on his tongue, he gulped in the air like a drowning man swallowing a lungful of water. Eager to breathe, he shuddered as he drew that last sacred breath.

The heat, as the blood rushed to his face, made him feel fevered before the flow was once again cut off as his combatant's arm wove around his neck. The dull popping sound that accompanied the efficient twist as his neck was broken did not carry in the forest.

His clouded eyes stared unseeing at the knife which had been plunged into the earth in front of them barely a minute before. The silver glint of it was reflected in his dull, lifeless eyes as it was plucked up out of the dirt and sheathed.

"One down, three to go," his killer grinned and whispered into his deafened ear.


	22. Drowning

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

Drowning

"Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic." -Anais Nin (1903 - 1977), _The Diary of Anais Nin_, volume 4, 1944-1947

* * *

Reid swallowed past the acidic bile that crept up his parched throat and attempted to move his aching body into a sitting position. He couldn't hear his tormentor anymore, but that may have been simply because he could not hear anything past the erratic beating of his own heart. He attempted to calm it from its current state of racing, but it continued to pound relentlessly in his ears, drowning out everything except for his ragged breathing. What surrounding sounds his heartbeat didn't muffle were completely submerged beneath the hitched in-and-out of his breathing.

He had been violated, could still feel the brutal intrusion of the man's tongue against his own, plying, searching, demanding in its degradation even in its absence. Gritty and unwelcome, the minty aftertaste of the trespass lingered in his watering mouth. Swallowing did not eliminate the damning peppermint flavor. The scent of it assaulted his nostrils, making him dizzy and sick to his aching stomach.

His body vehemently protested his attempts to reposition it. It rebelled against his insistence that it relax its rigid pose. Much to his own personal contempt, his body still burned in response to his violator's touch and was currently begging him for release. Primed for sex, waves of shame swept through him, leaving him overcome with grief and self-loathing. Should he give into the raw sense of need and allow his body the release that it begged him for?

His body ached in its visceral need and a cry of helpless frustration tore from his throat in little more than a strangled mewl. _Weak as a battered kitten, _he mused ruefully. _If Morgan could see me now, he would turn his head away in disgust, or worse, pity. Would Morgan even consider me a friend anymore? After all, I laid here, like some helpless infant and allowed that man to have his way with me. I didn't really try to stop him. If I had, he wouldn't have been able to touch me like that. Maybe, he was right, maybe I did want it. If I hadn't wanted it, I would have been able to stop him._

Another groan escaped his dried lips and he sobbed, turning his face into the cool, unforgiving rock of the cave floor. It offered little comfort to him, though it stole some of the heat from his fevered, aching body, assuaging the dull throb from where the knife had sliced into his cheek. A shiver stole through him.

Lost in his own thoughts, the cries of the searchers which penetrated the branches of the makeshift hideaway never penetrated his consciousness. Never made their way past his own near-silent sobs of self-mortification mingled with pain.

His body hurt, his mind was filled with disjointed thoughts and he wanted nothing more than to get away from it all, to sleep and wake up in his own bed at home or to never wake up at all. _He wanted this whole day, had it only been a day, to be nothing more than a nightmare. Nothing more than something which his overactive had concocted after a particularly difficult case. Sleep, however, eluded him – it would not come though he willed it to._

Aiken felt the absence of the monster from his curled-up position on the cave floor almost immediately. He was tired and cold and wanted his mommy and brother more than anything in the world. He knew as he allowed his eyes to open, that they were gone and would never come back, ever.

A stifled sob broke forth from his lips as he bravely fought back the tears which threatened to spill from his overtaxed eyes_. Tears would not help him now. They'd never help. They wouldn't bring back his mom or Braden. They wouldn't make the monster go away for good. They wouldn't bring him comfort. _

_Maybe, when the monster came back, it would all finally be over and he'd be able to join his mother and brother in heaven. When Savannah's grandfather had died, his mom told him that all good people went to heaven to wait for their loved ones. Maybe when the monster finally killed him, they could all be together again in heaven. _

_He'd like to see Mr. Breighton again, he'd always told the best stories about back when he was young. He'd called them 'simpler times' and explained how there were no computers or cell phones or video games. Everyone had to use their imagination. The air was unpolluted and everyone knew each other's names. If anyone needed anything, they'd just ask a neighbor or, more often than not, the neighbors would come to each other's aid without even having to be asked. Maybe heaven would be like that. Maybe it would be filled with imagination and everyone would care for each other without having to be asked. Though, he also hoped that it would have video games too. _

_Mommy, Braden, wait for me in heaven please, and if you see Mr. Breighton, say hello from me, _Aiken prayed. _He didn't really know how prayers were supposed to work, but hoped that his would reach his mom and brother. He really didn't want to be alone forever. Sure, he'd miss his dad, but without his mother and brother, life would never be the same. _

He thought he heard his name being called from outside the cave, but didn't dare say a word. The monster had told him not to and he didn't want to make the monster mad. _No, he'd be quiet and wait until the monster returned, if he was good and did as he was told; he'd be able to go to heaven for sure._

Shivering with numbing cold, Aiken scooted from the dark corner of the cave he had been abandoned to and snuggled next to Spencer who was so warm it felt as though he were hugging a blazing teddy bear. He wrapped Spencer's arm around his body, draping it over him and tucked his own arm underneath the man's head, nestling into the crook of his neck.

Reid's body tensed as the smaller body burrowed next to him. _Aiken_, he realized belatedly as his mind reacted slowly to the addition of another body pressed tight against his, reminiscent of the much stronger, more demanding one which had tormented him not too long ago. This body, however, sought not to violate him, but rather to gain some mutual comfort and warmth.

Willing his stiff body to relax so as not to startle the young boy, Reid allowed Aiken to meld into him, to wrap his nimble arms around his body. Allowing the boy to leech warmth from him, he warred with the memory of his captor's body on top of him, smothering him. He battled against his impeccable memory's attempt to make him relive the enforced encounter moment-by-painstaking-moment as his assailant's face swam menacingly in front of his vision, clouding it.

Closing his eyes against the mental invasion, he nearly gagged on his own tongue as the memory of the man's mouth hot upon his own, demanding, forcibly taking and eliciting pleasure from him assailed his weakened mind. A peculiar, zesty mint-flavor lingered in his mouth; a gritty reminder of the forced entry he'd been unable to stop.

_No! He would not entertain these thoughts, not here, not with Aiken clinging to his side. The memory of his torturer had no place here. The memory of the lips, hot against his flesh as they explored different parts of his body, causing him to tingle and respond in ways that no one else had yet done for him, needed to be abolished. The memory of dexterous hands and fingers, groping, plying slight pressure at different points along his body needed to be stowed away for another time when he would be able to deal with it._

_The memory of the man suckling at his throat, drinking his blood like a baby at its mother's breast partaking of life's sweet nectar, titillated his senses. The lips, flush against his throat had been eager and compelling in their fervency. The memory of it overwhelmed him, causing him to tremble chastely. The act had been sensual and strangely arousing and, much to his horror, the memory of it awakened his dulled senses sending him careening over the edge of rational thinking into the murky pool of a hallucinatory hell in which he was the willing victim of a vampiristic madman._

Aiken heard his name called again, but he gripped Spencer tighter and closed his eyes. _He felt safe, knowing that he wasn't alone and that he would soon be joining his mother and brother and maybe even Mr. Breighton in heaven. Maybe Spencer would be there too when he woke up. _

He listened to the agent's heartbeat, content in the regular, steady beat. Ba bump…ba bump…ba bump… He felt the rise and fall of Spencer's chest and matched his breathing to that of the agent's. Sighing, he popped a thumb into his mouth, something he hadn't done since he was a baby, and sucked, gaining succor from the nostalgic childhood act. The fingers of his other hand played with the fringe of Spencer's hair, twining and untwining it around each finger until a soothing rhythm had been established.

_He remembered how his mother used to rock him to sleep on her lap. How she would tuck a blanket around him, wrap him up so that he was warm and secure. He would stick his thumb in his mouth, unless his dad was home to complain about it, and play with his mother's hair, twisting it around his fingers, letting its velvet softness cascade over them until he fell asleep._

The rhythmic movement of Aiken's fingers as they weaved their way in and out of his hair quieted Reid's reeling mind and alleviated some of the pain which had ensconced his heart. The measured inhale and exhale of the child's breathing, hot puffs of air caressing his throat, served as an anchor to his subconscious mind, pulling it back from the depths of hell it had been plunged to.

The consolation that Aiken sought from him strangely brought a comfort of its own to Reid. His body began to relax under the influence of the gentle, methodic touch and he moved his other arm, though it ached from stiffness, so that his hand rested on Aiken's back. He drew the boy closer with the arm Aiken had wrapped around himself and placed his hand on the boy's head, splaying his fingers, entwining them in the boy's hair in imitation of how he had often comforted his own mother as a child. Even as Reid remonstrated himself for seeking comfort from the child he held, knowing that, as the adult, he should be the one offering the comfort not taking it, he grasped at it like a man drowning.

Each clung to the other as though attempting to hold onto a lifeguard, fearful of being swept away by an angry sea, risking drowning the rescuer in the process as they frantically fought the swirling, monster-filled waters of their anxious thoughts. They held on tight, afraid to let go, oblivious to the search party just outside their temporary hideaway whose cries fell on deaf ears, they slept.


	23. Moonlight Becomes Her

**Disclaimer:** See first chapter.

* * *

Moonlight Becomes Her

"Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody." -Mark Twain

Hardy was in his element, a panther in the jungle after its much slower, dumber prey. He grinned maliciously, shadows twisting the corners of his mouth in the full light of the moon as he circled the injured female officer. The moonlight illuminated the contours of her face, so beautifully contorted in a grimace of pain. No doubt caused by the ankle she seemed to be nursing.

_Exquisite. Not quite as lithe as the doctor or as formidable a foe as the male officer had been, but given the look of pained determination on her face as she gingerly placed some weight on her twisted ankle, he surmised that she would be one hell of a conquest. The dark curtain of her hair, cresting her shoulders looked silken to the touch and his fingers longed to caress the ebony locks. Her forehead glistened with sweat from her effort to walk on the injured limb, but her jaw was locked in obstinacy. In a word, she was: bewitching. Much as his own mother had been before she had died, before his uncle had taken him in. Before his career as a hunter had begun._

Prentiss gritted her teeth, and grasping the rough trunk of a tree, rose to her feet. She was needed by Rossi, Peters, Carter, Reid and Aiken. She'd be damned if she was going to let something like a twisted ankle hinder her in the search for her colleagues and friends. Wincing slightly at the pain elicited when she put a small amount of her weight on the injured limb, she grimaced and stood to her full height, ignoring the stabbing pain that shot up from her ankle through her thigh. Standing to her full height, she squared her shoulders and bit down on the pain. She began to painstakingly work her way forward, moving from tree to tree.

Peters circled once more, certain he had heard a struggle of some sort and certain he had heard someone's stifled cries. Lowering once again into a crouching position, he allowed his eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, to search the forest around him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled in anticipation of danger. Excitement and fear coursed through his veins, heating his body, engaging his nervous system in a 'fight-or-flight' response.

In an effort not to flee, he clamped his jaw down hard, ignoring the tense creak it elicited as his teeth ground together. He felt it in his gut, aflame with self-doubt, nervous tension, and eager anticipation. His body was primed in expectancy of an impending kill.

This tell-tale fire in his gut reigned in stakeouts, hunts and when his life was in danger. He had learned long ago how to control it, how to hone it into a skill much as his primitive ancestors had done. He could remain still and listen to his instincts. They had saved him on numerous occasions, had helped him execute a kill on others, and guided him through crises. He knew they would guide him even now if he listened to them and did not give way to the fear which iced through him as the moon drifted out from behind a cloud and suddenly illuminated a grisly scene before him.

Carter, eyes open, sightless, lay dead a mere three feet from him. He knew, in the measure of a heartbeat, that the same moon which illuminated his dead partner was giving their mutual enemy an unhindered view of him. The moon, in all its glory, was acting as a spotlight.

Peters, again, acting on instinct alone, darted into the shadows, searching his surroundings for the man who'd murdered Billy, the convenience store clerk, and Carter. The man they had been searching for in connection with the murder of Mrs. Randall and Braden, the man they sought in connection with the disappearance of Aiken and Agent Reid.

Rossi stopped and closed his eyes, listening. Stilling his breathing, he tuned out his heartbeat, he could now hear past the sounds of the forest. He could hear someone tentatively walking in his direction, moving from tree to tree. The footfalls were uneven. Frowning, Rossi stretched his sense of hearing further and made out the sounds of someone shuffling in the underbrush.

Opening his eyes, he headed in the direction of the faltering footsteps, the beam of the flashlight bouncing jovially off the ground in places where the moonlight did not reach. Drawing his weapon, he toggled the safety off and carefully made his way forward.

Prentiss swept her hair away from her face, huffing with the effort of taking yet another painful step forward. It was painstaking work making her way through the heavy, rain dewed forest with a throbbing ankle. She paused, resting against a veined tree. She let out a shaky breath, spilling the air from her lungs in a hiccoughing exhalation which burned her lungs. Though she had only been walking, it felt like she had been running a marathon on her injured ankle. The heat and humidity, now that the rain had ceased, made the air seem thick and close. She took a couple of deep breaths, pulling the muggy air into her lungs and exhaling in long shuddery expirations until her breathing had resumed to normal. Her temples began to throb in rhythmic imitation of the pulsating tempo of her ankle. _Great_, she groaned, _headache to match my twisted ankle._

The effort of walking on her ankle had caused droplets of sweat to bead along her brow and, raising a shaky hand, she wiped at it, inadvertently smearing dirt and blood on her face. She had scraped the palms of her hands during her fall and, in the anemic light of the moon, it looked ghoulish. Grimacing in disgust, she wiped her palms on the front of her jeans and wiped at her face once more. _Shit,_ _I am going to look like I've gone through a war by the time I make it back to the team._

A twig snapped nearby and Prentiss' head jerked up; pulling her weapon out she trained it in the direction of the sound.

"Reid?" She called out tentatively, the sound barely carrying in the weight of the forest.

She waited a heartbeat before calling out, "Rossi?"

The stillness of the forest around her remained undisturbed save for the sounds of her own labored breathing, "Carter?"

Something wasn't right, the unnatural quiet ensuing the creaking disturbance was pressing in on her.

"Peters?"

It was as though the forest had gone mute, nothing moved anywhere and Emily's world was suddenly condensed to that of herself and the silent woods surrounding her.

"Aiken?"

The stagnant air threatened to choke her. _Who or what the hell was out there and why didn't he answer?_

"Rossi?" She tried again; they had started out in closest proximity to each other at the beginning of this whole debacle.

Though her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, she knew that whoever or whatever had startled her was within hearing distance and tried once more, "Reid? Carter? Peters? Aiken?"

Steal gripped her heart in an icy cold grasp, sending it into slow motion before once again resuming its steady, frantic drumbeat against her ribs. The skin on her arms prickled as she shivered in the warm air and the hairs at the base of her neck stood on end.

_Get a grip Prentiss,_ she scolded herself, _it's probably just a harmless animal, a rabbit or deer. No sense in being afraid, you've handled yourself better in true life-and-death situations, this is nothing in comparison. Okay, no time for pep talks move it. _

She shoved herself away from the trunk of the tree she had been resting against and a matching snap of a nearby twig mirrored her movement as though she was in some absurd de facto chess game. _This is ridiculous!_ She tightened the grip on her gun and worked her way toward the back of the tree, away from the source of the sound and from the foraging tendrils of the moonlight which bathed her in an ethereal glow.

Swallowing hard against the irrational fear which threatened to envelop her in short order, she kept her gun trained on the darkness before her, using the tree as a natural shield. Fear, much to her annoyance, had given her the momentum to propel her around the base of the tree. The twin throbbing in her head and ankle had been numbed by that sweet elixir, adrenaline, which also served to sharpen her eyesight, giving her a shadowy view of her stalker. Not an animal after all, but the bulky form of a man, hunched in the undergrowth.

"Look," her voice sounded strained and foreign in the hitherto dormant air of the forest, "I don't know who you are, but come of there with your hands up."

Though her heartbeat had drowned out her words, she spoke with unmitigated, growing confidence.

After all, she had been in trickier situations as a teen living abroad.

"I'm a federal agent, come out of there with your hands up!"

Instead of revealing himself, as Prentiss requested, he further concealed himself from her view in the canopy of the forest. The moon, a beacon revealing her location, served to shield her pursuer as he moved with haste into the concealing shadows. She had no clear line of sight and doubted that the beam of her flashlight would penetrate the thick shade of the forest. Cursing herself, Emily scanned the deep woods for better shelter.

Rossi stepped into the light of the moon and stopped. Looking to his left and right cautiously, he listened and caught the sounds of a whisper lingering on the torpid night air. _Was that Emily? _He listened for the space of a second and headed in the direction of the strained voice. Fear gripped him in an iron tight fist – something wasn't right. Shrugging off the trepidation he felt, he jogged toward where he hoped to find Emily.

There, bathed in the sanctifying light of the moon stood Sekhmet in the flesh, the Egyptian goddess of hunting and courage, sent to him by the gods themselves as a gift. Surely there was no worthier hunter than himself…who else reveled in the kill as much as he did…who else had proven to be an irrefutable master of life and death as Sekhmet herself was? Surely there was no one else deemed meritorious enough to be graced with her presence, no one else who rejoiced in the kill as much as he did. No one else who shared her bloodlust as much as he. Hardy smiled in self-adulation, his teeth gleaming white in the near darkness.

Shuffling toward his partner's body, Peters swallowed the bile that had arisen unbidden in his throat. Carter had been an excellent officer. It angered him that the young officer's life had been ended not three yards from where he had crouched in the shelter of the brush. He had failed his partner. Had the young officer called out to him for help? He couldn't remember hearing a sound issue from the now bluing lips. He should have acted less cautiously when he had heard the apparent scuffle; if he had, maybe Carter would still be alive.

Closing his eyes against the impending tears, he didn't deserve to feel anything but self-loathing, not pity or remorse, those were empty feelings. He had failed his partner, simple as that. The dead eyes stared back at him, dull and dark, void of the joyful light which had more often than not been held within their murky depths. It wasn't with accusation that they now looked up at him in their coolness; instead they held a measure of undeserved forgiveness in them. Carter, even in his death, embodied the art of mercy.

Kneeling next to his partner's body, he reached down and, knowing that this did not always work, attempted to close the lifeless eyes. Warmth, belying Carter's deceased state, emanated from the body as it cooled in the sultry night air. The moon, in its ghostly manner, shone down on Carter, illustrating the odd angle at which his neck was craned and the bruises which had accompanied his struggle with his killer. Brushing his shaky hands on his knees, Peters sighed in relief. The eyelids had been obedient, closing over the defunct eyes. Carter now looked as though he was slumbering peacefully.

Turning his head away as grief momentarily overtook him; Peters noticed a pair of footprints, distorted in the mud. They led toward an area heavily guarded by brush.

"What is hidden there?" he asked his dead partner, knowing he would not get a response.

He stood, hating to leave Carter's body, but not wanting his partner's death to have been in vain either. He followed the disfigured imprints, being careful not to deface them. Maybe they would lead him to the killer.

The way her dark hair framed her lovely oval face was enchanting, especially backlit as it was by the luster of the moon. Her face, as unblemished as Dr. Reid's, glistened with sweat. The dirt and blood she had unwittingly transferred from the palms of her hands only served to enhance the otherworldly beauty of his immortal Sekhmet rendered mortal. Hardy basked in her glorious luminosity. She was his Egyptian maiden and he her Pharaoh slated to conquer her in this oneiric moonlit night.

He imagined her face alight with pleasure and pain, her lithe body panting beneath his as they struggled for dominancy. Her commanding, yet huskily feminine voice would be a melodious symphony as she succumbed to his superior skills. A deep growl emanated from the pit of his stomach, the release he'd gotten from killing the officer had not been enough to satiate him and the fire burned once more in his groin.

_Sekhmet: lioness, huntress, goddess divine_, Hardy intoned, _prepare to meet your match. You will find no worthier challenger. _

He took a careful, measured step toward his goddess, not wanting to alert her to his movement, hoping to catch her unawares, yet knowing, even as he did so, that she would intuit his action, no matter how slight. He was rewarded for his undiluted worship of her heretofore unopposed skills when she altered her position in correspondence with his modest change of position. They were perfectly in tune with each other, a match literally made in heaven. To master her would be to master the world_._

Her blood, the veritable nectar of the gods and goddesses he had worshiped as a child, would serve as ample reward for his most triumphant kill yet. It would be his to imbibe and gain insurmountable vitality from as he partook of the gift the gods had bestowed upon him for his lifelong servitude. His soul would be cleansed when he spilled her blood and suckled at her willing breast gleaming red with its savory crimson bounty.

Grinning in voracious longing, he gripped the bone handle of his knife. Using the shadows for cover, he moved closer toward his intended target, relishing in her awareness.

Prentiss felt it in her gut, she needed to move. Someone was closing in on her, like a lion stalking its prey. She'd be damned if she was going to be anyone's prey. Though she strained to hear which direction the sound of movement was coming from, she had a difficult time distinguishing whether it was coming from the left or the right. The trees distorted the sound, and the stillness of the dank air amplified it, making it seem close and yet far away at the same time.

She tightened her grip on the weapon she held and calmed her breathing. Allowing fear to rule her even for a moment was unacceptable and could make her life forfeit. Telling herself that there was nothing to fear, she was a well-trained and armed federal agent, she took the safety off of her weapon and moved into the shadows, away from the support the tree had momentarily offered her.


	24. Practical Measures

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter.

**AU**

* * *

Practical Measures

"Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan 'press on' has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race." - Calvin Coolidge

Earlier:

Hotch watched Morgan and Savannah from the wheelchair he had unceremoniously been plopped into by a harried looking Doc who had grumbled beneath her breath about _ungrateful FBI agent sons of bitches_. The transfer from the table to the wheelchair had been none too gentle, but Hotch was not about to voice his concerns over poor bedside manner lest he be subjected to more of it.

His broken ankle had been elevated and Doc had attached yet another IV to his arm. Doc, Katherine, had told him what each one was for, but at the time he'd been a bit out of it and couldn't recall what each bag was doing for him or whether each was truly necessary.

He longed to be out there with Rossi and Prentiss looking for Reid and Aiken. He had really screwed things up and would be brought to task for the botched investigation, but at the moment, the only one here to bring him to task was his own conscience and it did not bode well for him.

He'd been running through what had happened at the dilapidated farm over and over again and each time, the experiences grew darker in his mind. He could see where things had gone wrong from almost the start and, try as he might, when he ran the situations and the choices he and his team had made throughout the course of that day, he couldn't say that he or they would have done things differently. It had nothing to do with the fact that they should have done things differently, because they should have, he just knew that, given the circumstances and the way things had played out, they would have made the same choices if they'd had it to do over. As ill-fated as they were, the decisions they had made were an endemic part of who they were and that is what he couldn't change.

It didn't matter that things had fallen apart and that Savannah, Morgan, and he had been injured. He knew that, though things could have been done differently, nothing would have, it would have all played out as it did, no matter how many times he ran it differently through his mind after the fact. Things had played out as they would, whether by fate or the hand of God.

Though he knew it was useless to continue to chastise himself and run through the different possible scenarios of how the day might have gone differently, he couldn't stop his mind from taking him on the counterproductive journey. In one scenario, he saw himself carrying a crying, yet safe little boy home to his grateful father. In another scenario, Reid had stayed at Mr. Randall's with JJ where he would be safe and not in the hands of some socio or psychopath. In yet another scenario, he had never opened up fire in the stormy weather that had shrouded the day and Morgan was not lying still and pale on the sterile sheets of a rural clinic.

They were all predicated on what might have been, could have been, and yet would never be and Hotch couldn't stop his mind from going through each and every one of them, even the tangents which had things turning from bad to worse. In one such offshoot, his mind conjured up an image of a bloodied and battered Reid, eyes dead and blank, staring up at nothing. Another showed him cradling a dying Morgan in his arms as the bullet that he'd shot him with tore its way through his vital organs rather than his shoulder. Each disparate scene that his fevered mind came up with grew worse than the last and he couldn't seem to put a stop to it.

As his mind continued to conjure up images of each and every member of his team injured or dead at the hands of their elusive unsub or the horrid weather, he couldn't also help but think that there was something he should be doing to help the rest of the team. The leader shouldn't be sitting it out on the sidelines, injured or not. He should be out in the field leading the search rather than sitting in a country clinic watching the beeping screen of a cardiac machine as it monitored the faltering heartbeat of one of his agents and an innocent bystander who should never have been allowed to aid them in their search. _Damn it, I really fucked things up._

In spite of the anger which fueled him, wheeling himself out of the room was not an easy feat. But, he managed to make it out of the room without dislodging either of the IVs attached to him or alerting Katherine who'd left him _in charge_, with strict instructions to inform her if either of the other patients woke or if they seemed to be in any distress. Apparently she had some paper work to do.

Burrows and Cooper had left to return to their department. They would be on-call for the remainder of the night and probably the majority of the next morning until the storm-related emergencies died down. Though he was loath to admit it, the officers had more than likely saved all three of their lives and he was going to see about repaying that debt. They were both good men, though Doc seemed to treat them as though they were little more than ignoramuses sent to do her bidding.

Looking down the corridor in either direction for any sign of the mercurial doctor, he pulled out his cell phone and sighed in relief when it showed he had full coverage in the tiny clinic's corridor. _Where the hell was this kind of coverage when I needed it earlier?_

Hitting speed dial number one, his mouth twisted up into a grim smile when a familiar, cheerful voice greeted him with a, "Jeannie of the cyber world at your beck and call O' captain, my captain. Just make your request and it shall be granted."

"Garcia," Hotch began, but was unable to finish as she cut him off, worry evident in her voice as she recognized the seriousness in his tone in that one three syllable word he had spoken. Tension had worked itself across the phone line and Garcia felt worry grip her heart; something was wrong.

"What is it? What's happened?" She was tripping over the words.

"Garcia," Hotch began again, berating himself for allowing some of the weariness he felt to leech into his voice, "everything's alright," he lied.

He knew, however, that the hacker at the other end of the line would only work herself into a frenzy if she knew the condition Morgan and he were in.

"What information do you have for me on Rossi and Prentiss? Have they found Reid and Aiken yet?"

Silence answered him as Garcia took a deep breath, "Sorry sir, I haven't heard anything from them since they went to check out the shooting at the local gas station," he heard rapid typing, "both SUVs are still at the gas station, here let me try their cells." Again, there was more click-clacking and Hotch could hear a number being dialed, but it was met immediately by a voicemail for Rossi, then Prentiss, and finally Reid.

"Sorry sir, they must still be out of range, I'll keep trying."

"Thanks Garcia," Hotch answered grimly, "anything on JJ's end?" He almost hated to ask, though a small part of him hoped that at least one of his field agents was safe and sound and not fully enmeshed in the nightmare that this day had become.

She'd handled the press expertly, as usual, and had gone to the Randall house to sit and wait with Steve Randall in case Aiken returned home. They wanted to make sure that Steve and an officer was there, just in case. The Rubin County police force was tapped; all of the officers were either already aiding them in the search or dealing with storm related issues, so it had been decided that JJ would wait with Mr. Randall.

A moment of strained silence stretched over the line and Hotch's heart clenched in his chest. Had he somehow managed to lose yet another agent to this screwed up search? Garcia's sharp intake of breath caused Hotch to hold his breath in anxious anticipation of the dire news she was no doubt about to tell him. Hanging his head, he closed his eyes and listened with a wariness that seeped deep into his bones.

"Ah sir, she's on another line, just called. Here, let me link you," Garcia's smooth computer keystrokes soon had the separate lines of the two agents linked; all three were now able to communicate with each other.

Opening his eyes, he allowed a grim smile to spread across his face and he gripped the handle of his wheelchair tightly, hoping that he'd receive some good news for a change.

"Sir?" JJ said in a whisper.

"Yes JJ, go ahead," Hotch wondered why his agent was uncharacteristically quiet. His heart dropped. Was she in danger?

"Something seems off about this case," her voice came out in a hushed, breathy tone, as though she was walking at a rapid pace, trying to make an escape.

"What do you mean?" Hotch sat up in his chair, grimacing and hissing as pain shot up his leg due to his hasty readjustment.

"Mr. Randall," the sound of a door clicking shut shot across the phone line and JJ's voice once again resumed its natural, confident tone, "something is off about him. Nothing I can really pinpoint, just a gut feeling at this time, but he doesn't seem at all upset by the death of his wife or son and he has not even once mentioned his missing son, Aiken."

"What are some of the things you've noticed about his behavior?" Hotch leaned forward in his chair, listening intently.

She spoke somewhat hesitantly as she gathered her thoughts, "Well, he didn't seem to notice the crime scene tape cordoning off the kitchen. I attempted to draw him out in conversation, but he kept looking at the door or out the front window. He doesn't know what Aiken might have been wearing today. He didn't ask a single question about what happened. He didn't even respond when I explained that Aiken was alive, but had gone missing. He just didn't seem interested in what had happened period."

"All of that could be due to shock, he just lost his wife and one of his sons, and the other is missing," Hotch reasoned.

"That's what I thought at first as well, but then he almost compromised the primary crime scene to get a beer. He even offered me one. He seems anxious, as though guilty of something or afraid. I get the feeling that his reluctance to talk is not out of grief. I know people handle grief differently, but he's behaving as though he knew it was going to happen before it happened; almost as if he planned it himself," JJ took a breath.

"Garcia," Hotch barked, "check into Mr. Randall's background, particularly his phone records and bank history. Go back…six months… see if there's anything out of the ordinary."

"Already on it sir," Garcia, in anticipation of Hotch's command, had begun looking into Randall's background the minute JJ had indicated something was off about the man. It chilled her to the marrow to think that he could be behind the grisly attack on his family and that his little boy, who was out there, lost, could possibly have no one to come home to when he was found.

"JJ," Hotch's voice had a hard edge to it.

"Yes sir?"

"Watch Mr. Randall, see if you can find anything on him at the house."

"Yes sir."

"And JJ?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful," Hotch's voice was strained with worry, "call me when you find something."

"Yes sir," the phone clicked off on her end.

"Garcia," Hotch rubbed at his temple which had begun to throb.

"Yes sir?" Garcia's fingers were flying across her keyboard and her eyes were darting between multiple computer and television screens looking at a vast amount of information, which she quickly pared down to that which was pertinent. She narrowed her focus and expertly ignored every superfluous bit of information that came across her line of vision.

"Call me when you find something," Hotch was about to hang up the phone when Garcia's voice had him sitting up even further in the wheelchair and wincing once again as his injured limb was jarred by the sudden movement.

"Holy cow!" Garcia exclaimed, regarding one of the multiple computer screens more closely. She had hit the jackpot.

"What is it?" Hotch clenched the phone tighter to his ear.

"Um, sir, well Mr. Randall is under investigation by the FBI on suspicion of insurance fraud and laundering money for the mob, oh my…" Garcia answered guardedly. She was still gathering information, her eyes moving rapidly as she read the monitors before her, searching them for further incriminating information. "There was a lump sum transfer of ten thousand dollars to an account for a Ms. Jennings who does not seem to exist," _did the man have another family?_ "And sir," there was a pause, "enrollment for both boys' private schooling was cancelled on the same day as well as Mrs. Randall's car insurance. It seems that Mr. Randall was experiencing some financial difficulties as well. His wife is independently wealthy, but he cannot access her funds."

"See what else you can find," Hotch was removing the IVs from his arm. He was not going to sit around while the rest of his team was out there working or missing, not when so much was at stake. He didn't like feeling useless. He needed to be out there doing something for his team, there was nothing he could do for Morgan or Savannah at the moment, Doc was more than capable of taking care of them. Taking a quick peek into the room, he let out a relieved sigh that neither of them had woken during his absence.

Edging himself out of the wheelchair so that he didn't jar his aching leg once again, he eased himself up to a tentative standing position. Using the chair for leverage, he kept one hand on the back of it and another on the wall for support. Keeping his leg slightly elevated, he carefully hopped his way around the chair.

Taking a deep breath, he let go of the chair and quickly placed his other hand on the wall and scooted his way along the hallway. A light sheen of sweat broke out along his brow and his breathing was coming in labored gasps by the time he'd made it halfway to the front door. His lungs burned with the effort and a coughing fit had him clutching his side. His head swam as a bout of queasiness attacked him and he was reminded that Doc had warned him he might be developing a chest cold. Even so, he kept his eyes steadily on his destination and ground his teeth against the pain that shot up his leg. He was not going to let anything stop him from making it to the front door.

He was so intent on reaching his objective that he didn't hear the light approach of footsteps behind him. A gentle, yet firm grip on his bicep forestalled him as he was whirled upon by a rather irate looking Doc. One hand on his arm and another on her hip, she raised a single eyebrow and sent him a frosty glare.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She tossed her head back, her green eyes flashed in warning and the explanation he'd prepared died on his tongue.

He swallowed against a sudden onslaught of panic, he felt like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He attempted to loosen her grip on him, but she dug her fingers in as though anchoring herself to him, and he felt anger pulsate through her in waves.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Hotch kept quiet, sensing that she was trying to calm herself down before she did something she'd regret and he didn't want to say anything which would cause her to lose her cool.

"Ten," she finally said softly and opened her eyes.

He attempted a smile, but realized his mistake as soon the corners of his lips lifted and her eyes narrowed dangerously. He hurriedly subdued his smile, but had the feeling that he had been too late to escape her formidable wrath.

"Crap," she sighed and closed her eyes once more.

She'd been so angry when she had gone to check on her patients and had found one of the missing. She'd known that she shouldn't have left him alone. She'd assumed that by giving him some sort of duty to perform, he'd feel as though he was being useful and stay put like he should have. Apparently it hadn't worked. A quick look in the corridor had confirmed her suspicions; she'd known that it would be hard to keep him here.

He'd struck her as a man of action and she knew that it had to be hard for him to be here, out of the action, and to keep still and heal while there were others out there who needed help. He was a take charge kind of guy and she had a feeling that he felt responsible for everything that had happened today, including those things he'd had little or no control over. Hell, she'd be willing to bet that he probably even felt responsible for the bad weather and the shitty cell phone reception.

She knew that one of his people was missing and that, because of the storm, he was also out of contact with a large portion of his team. It couldn't be easy for him, she knew that, and yet, even that thought did little to temper her choler at his audacity. If he thought that he could just slip past her without her noticing, he had another thing coming. She might be a backcountry doctor, but she was no idiot bumpkin.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine_…she counted off mentally, saying only the final digit aloud, "Ten." It was something that her grandfather had urged her to do when she got angry and sometimes it even worked. Apparently, this was not one of those times because when she opened her eyes, Hotch was grinning goofily like some silly little boy caught at nothing more than having his hand in the cookie jar trying to bring a fistful of cookies out only to have it stuck at the opening because he was unwilling to let go of the lot of them to get his hand out.

Shaking her head, she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "This isn't going to work," she sighed, "sorry grandfather." She rolled her eyes heavenward and scowled at Hotch, gripping his arm tightly enough to leave bruises. If she could do so without feeling guilty or in breach of the Hippocratic Oath that she'd sworn to uphold, she'd shake some sense into the idiotic man who continued to look at her with a sheepish grin held firmly in place.

Scanning his face with critical eyes, she noted with some measure of satisfaction that he flinched a little at her look of approbation. He was taller by her than at least two feet, so she had to crane her neck and stand a little on her toes to get a good look at him and what she saw caused her to table her righteous indignation momentarily in favor of raw fury.

"You insufferable, ingrate," she seethed.

He was far paler than he'd been when Burrows and Cooper had brought him and the other two in and sweat coated his brow in a thin sheet. His brown eyes had a glazed look that she knew bespoke of a significant amount of pain and he was swaying precariously. He was leaning heavily against the wall and she knew that if she released her grip on him, he'd more than likely topple ingloriously to the floor.

_It'd serve him right_, she thought to herself before determining that such an action would definitely be in violation of the codes of conduct and ethics she'd agreed to follow as a medical student. If she'd known what future awaited her, she might have begged off of the promise entirely. It hadn't taken into account men like Agent Hotchner or some of the other imbecilic men she'd had to deal with on a nearly daily basis.

She lowered her eyes and looked at the leg he held slightly off the tiled linoleum floor and clenched her jaw. Blood was seeping through the bandage she'd wrapped around it. It hadn't needed stitches earlier, but she'd be willing to bet that this little unaided excursion through the hallway had caused the wound to tear enough to warrant them now.

"You," she jabbed a finger at him, "stay right here." She didn't wait for his acknowledgement of her order, but released her grip on his arm and whirled on her heel. Hoping that he wouldn't do a face plant without her support, she stalked back to the wheelchair which was thankfully only halfway down the hallway; he hadn't been able to make it too far in his current condition. _What the hell had he been thinking?_ She fumed.

She wheeled the chair over to him quickly, observing that he had managed, just barely, to remain standing, propped up against the wall. His eyes were drooping by the time she'd managed to coax him back into the wheelchair.

His jaw was locked in determination and, in spite of the obvious state of fatigue he was in; he managed to spear her with a look of ill-concealed contempt.

"You can't keep me here," it was little more than a hoarse whisper and yet it held the entirety of the rancor that his look was shooting her way. "My team needs me."

"Your team," she answered dryly, looking him squarely in the eye as she knelt to adjust his bleeding leg so that it was elevated, "I'd imagine, is more than capable of doing the job they've been trained to do. You'd be little more than a liability to them in this condition. You wouldn't have even made it out of the door without collapsing, let alone been any help to them."

She stood abruptly and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. _Crap, the hapless fool has managed to increase his fever._ She'd have to use a thermometer to get an accurate temperature, but she'd be willing to bet that it was nearly a hundred and one, if not higher. If that was the case, she'd have to figure out a way to keep him immobile and bring his temperature down.

"Let's get you back to the others," she leaned over the back of the chair and spoke harshly into his ear. "You've not only managed to exacerbate that wound in your leg, but you've given yourself a fever in the process. I might have to put some stitches in and will have to administer some more Tylenol. If that doesn't work," she punctuated each word with a precision borne of irritation which was barely being held in check, "then I will have to resort to more stringent methods of bringing the fever down. Just what the hell were you thinking?" She straightened and wheeled him down the tiny corridor, past the now useless IV drips which had been torn out of his arm and strewn haphazardly about the hallway.

"That I'd failed my team when they needed me," his words were spoken faintly, yet Katherine heard them loud and clear and felt a tinge of sympathy for him, "and that I couldn't fail them again."

She paused before entering the room where Morgan and Savannah were resting.

"Agent Hotchner," her voice, though sharp and businesslike, was void of acrimony, "I doubt your team feels that way. Whatever happened out there, I'm sure it wasn't your fault and that they don't blame you."

"I'd feel better if I was out there, doing something, rather than sitting here in a wheelchair," his words were spoken with bitter defeat. "It's not like I'm an invalid," he gestured at his leg. "All I need is a crutch and I'll be fine." He turned so that his pleading eyes could search out hers.

Shaking her head, she wheeled him into the room and knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his good knee.

"Agent Hotchner," she licked her lips, "unfortunately a crutch is not going to be enough. If you'd made it out the door in your current condition," she breathed in deeply, "I'm afraid that you would have caused far more damage than you have already and there is no doubt in my mind that you would have either ended up in the hospital in need of a blood transfusion and fighting off a nasty infection or in the morgue." She'd spoken the last few words in a fierce whisper.

"But I feel fine," Hotch insisted, unaware of how slurred his words came out and how much he sounded like a little boy asking to stay up, 'just one more hour'. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and his leg felt as though it was on fire, but he was determined to go and aid JJ or join his remaining agents in the search for Reid and Aiken. He couldn't fail them. He was their leader, they needed him.

His eyes drifted closed, though he fought hard to keep them open, as a needle was plunged into his leg, just below the reddened wound Doc had deftly unwrapped. Doc gave him another shot of Novocain above the wound, cursing under her breath as he lost consciousness. Once the area was numbed, she wasted no time in swabbing the wound with iodine to cleanse it and then nimbly stitched it closed. It hadn't taken more than five tight stitches, but she'd deemed it necessary given that it had torn when he'd attempted his escape.

Too bad Burrows and Cooper had left; she could use their help in getting Agent Hotchner onto a bed and into a more comfortable position. Sleeping as he was, he would wake up with a painful crick in his neck. _Serves the stubborn mule right_, Katherine snorted as she slipped the thermometer beneath his tongue. She placed a pillow behind his head, adjusting him so that he'd be as comfortable as possible, chiding herself for being much too accommodating to foolish men with martyr complexes.

"101.9, let's see if we can't bring that down."

She frowned, knowing that it could easily increase if infection set in or if the man attempted to do anything strenuous. She replaced the IVs he'd divested himself of, hanging fresh bags of antibiotics, a fever reducer which contained a mild sedative (she was not going to have him traipsing about the halls undoing her good work again anytime soon), a normal saline drip to combat dehydration, and a unit of type O blood for the blood he'd lost.

She chastised herself for not taking his case more seriously when she'd first treated him. Looking at things in retrospect, she realized that she hadn't been as thorough as she should have. He'd clearly been worse off than he'd claimed to be and than she'd first ascertained. She'd somehow deemed his injuries of less import than the other two injured patients whom she'd seen earlier and that could have cost him his life.

A jaunty jingle broke the tense silence and Katherine jumped at the sudden noise of the cell phone ringing in Agent Hotchner's breast pocket. When the man didn't stir, she gingerly reached for the phone and flipped it open.

"Hello?" She spoke uncertainly. Should she have let the phone continue to ring?

"Uh," the voice on the other end sounded equally doubtful, "Who is this? Where is Agent Hotchner?"

"This is Doctor Katherine Fitzgerald. I own and run a small clinic in Rubin County. Agent Hotchner is currently a patient of mine. What can I do for you?" Katherine straightened up to her full height and worked out some of the kinks in her back.

"You can help by letting me speak to Aaron Hotchner," the voice on the other phone sounded slightly put out and Katherine bristled at the tone.

"He is currently indisposed and unable to speak with anyone at the moment. Can I take a message?" Katherine raised an eyebrow, imagining the woman on the other end doing the same.

"What happened?" The voice was laced with worry and some of Katherine's ire dissolved. "Is he alright? I just spoke with him about twenty minutes ago."

"Sorry," Katherine sighed, "with whom am I speaking?"

"Agent Jennifer Jareau of the BAU, I'm a colleague of Agent Aaron Hotchner's. Is he okay?"

"He'll be okay," Katherine assured, _if the man doesn't end up killing himself before I can heal him. _"He, Agent Morgan and Savannah Breighton were brought here by officers Burrows and Cooper. They had been injured in some sort of firefight, from what I can gather, and have sustained various injuries that I expect each to fully recover from."

"He didn't mention any of that when I spoke to him," JJ's tone was accusatory.

"No, I'd imagine not," Katherine rubbed at the headache that was forming in her temple, "far be it from Superman to let anyone know when he needs help. I caught him trying to sneak out of the clinic without doctor's approval."

JJ chuckled at the note of weary wryness in the doctor's voice, knowing just how stubborn Hotch could be and how what a handful he could be. "Is Agent Morgan available?"

Katherine looked over at the other agent propped up on the bed. His eyes were open, watching her. She jutted her chin in his direction and he nodded slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at his shoulder injury.

"He just so happens to be," Katherine said as she handed the phone over to the agent and walked over to check on Savannah who was just beginning to stir.

"What's shakin'?" Morgan asked quietly.

"Are you okay?" JJ put her own discoveries aside. She needed to know that her teammates were okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a flesh wound," he prevaricated, trying to make his voice sound as light as possible.

"And Hotch?" She knew that Morgan was lying, but didn't call him on it, he was getting proper medical care and she had to trust that he'd be fine.

"He's fine." Morgan's eyes swiveled over to the man sleeping in the wheelchair.

Hotch's brow was furrowed darkly in sleep and he was frowning as if deep in thought. His fingers were twitching and his lips were moving soundlessly. He appeared to be dreaming and from the looks of it, it wasn't a pleasant dream. He'd have to get the doctor's attention and see if she could wake him.

"Morgan," JJ's voice was chiding.

"He probably looks worse than he really is," he capitulated, shaking his head.

"What happened out there?" JJ's heart skipped a beat.

She'd called to deliver Hotch some rather disturbing news, but that was all lost in the realization that the older agent had lied to her earlier. Something bad had happened and he'd kept her in the dark about it. Why?

"To tell you the truth," Morgan took a deep breath and expelled it audibly, "I'm not sure. Everything happened so quickly. One minute Reid was there, and the next…" he wracked his memory to try and remember the events that had led to him and the others being hospitalized and it was all a jumbled mess of muddled memory. He couldn't pick out a single image and focus on it long enough to put words to it that would make sense to JJ.

"What happened to Reid?" JJ couldn't tamp down the panic that had surfaced at the mention of her younger colleague. She felt completely out of the loop. "What about Rossi and Emily?"

Morgan blinked. He had no idea where the other two agents were, his mind was a little fuzzy on all of the details. Had Hotch mentioned something about them on their harrowing journey from Savannah's? He couldn't remember.

"I'm not sure. I think they might be out looking for the missing kid and Reid, he was taken. Garcia will know more," he spoke with much more confidence than he felt. Tiredness was starting to sap him of the little reserve of energy he'd had when he first awoke when the phone had rung.

"I'll check in with her once I'm done talking with you." JJ could tell that Morgan was fading fast.

He was beginning to sound lethargic. She didn't like it, but if she had to, she could wait for answers. She just wanted this case to come to a close. What she'd learned about Mr. Randall had turned her stomach. It didn't look as though she'd be able to pass the information on to Hotch and ask for his lead, she'd have to act on her own.

She'd been unable to contact both Rossi and Emily earlier and doubted that the lack of cell phone reception had changed much in their situation. She'd try them again, but had little hope she'd be able to get through. She just hoped that they'd both fared better than the others had.

"That sounds like a plan," Morgan yawned and laid his head back against the pillow. Before the phone fell out of his hand and to the floor, Katherine had snatched it up and arranged the pillow so that he wasn't lying at an awkward angle.

"Did you find out what you needed to?" Katherine asked, not unkindly.

"No," JJ sighed, "what happened?"

"I don't have the particulars, but Agent Hotchner, Aaron, had a nasty gouge in his leg that I have stitched up and a broken ankle as well. Agent Morgan, Derek, came in with a bullet in his shoulder. I was able to remove it; it hadn't nicked any arteries, major or otherwise. I was able to stitch it up quickly and he should recover full use of his arm with time and therapy. Savannah also suffered a gunshot wound to her arm that was easy to patch up. From what I can see, all three of them are equally blessed with dumb luck. But," she paused, "they'll all make full recoveries. I'll see to it," her voice had a steel edge to it that JJ found herself trusting almost instinctively.

"Thank you, when Hotch wakes, please tell him that JJ called and have him call me back if he's able to."

"Will do," Katherine assured her, "and," she hesitated, "take care of yourself; I'd hate to have another member of your team taking up the few remaining beds I have available in my clinic."

JJ laughed. "Will do. Take care of them for me."

"No problem, though if that bullheaded agent tries to undo my handiwork again, I cannot make any promises that you won't find him in a neck brace when you come to retrieve him," Katherine half-threatened.

"I doubt if he'll try to leave again," JJ assured, though she knew that if he got the chance and if he was able to, he'd do his best to be where he felt he was needed most and if that meant eluding a surly doctor to do it, he would. Hanging up, she tried first Rossi's, then Emily's and finally Reid's phone. Each went directly to voicemail. From the relative safety of her vehicle, she dialed one last number.

"Garcia?"

"What can the mistress of cyberspace do for one of her favorite female agents?" Garcia's normally cheerful voice lacked some of its effervescence, yet JJ was grateful to her colleague for trying to ease some of the trepidation she felt.

"Garcia, fill me in on what's going on, where are Rossi, Emily, and Reid?" JJ was used to being on top of things and this case had her feeling as though she was treading neck deep in quicksand and she didn't like it.

This whole search had gone downhill from the minute they'd entered Rubin County, Alabama. As Garcia filled her in with the details she'd been missing due to a lack of cell reception from key members of her team, JJ's blood ran cold. How could things have spiraled out of control in such a short period of time?

The wind and the rain continued to howl and rage around her, and though she was warm and safe from the elements in the cab of her SUV, she shivered as Garcia continued to talk. While she'd been essentially babysitting Mr. Randall, her team had been braving the storm and fighting battles she'd been completely unaware of and it didn't sit right with her.

"And that brings us to the present," Garcia finished dispiritedly. "What's happening on your end?"

Garcia was the vendor and purveyor of knowledge, the only contact that seemed to know what was going on at any given time on this case and she felt as though the world was a bit skewed on its axis. It made her slightly uncomfortable, and she felt as if the lives of her team rested on her shoulders rather than on Hotch's.

"I wanted to ask if you'd come across anything pertaining to an Enrico Mazzoni? I found some files with his name in them on the pretext of looking for evidence which would lead to his wife and son's killer." JJ had her suspicions, but wanted them verified. "I think Steve Randall might be getting suspicious of me."

She didn't want to confirm to JJ that Aiken's father was a dirt bag who'd paid to have his wife and sons killed because he wanted access to his wife's fortune to get himself out of debt to a mobster and to start a new life on some remote island, but that is what the evidence pointed to. She'd rather have had her intuition be off in this case. She'd rather have discovered that Mr. Randall loved his family and would have done anything to keep them safe, that he was a good man who wanted his only living son returned to him safe and sound. Instead, what she'd uncovered in files and notes was an elaborate plan to rid himself of his family and gain his wife's fortune so he could start a new life free from ties to the mob and his family.

Taking a deep breath before delving in, Garcia shared the information she too had uncovered about Enrico Mazzino and the ties that Mr. Randall seemed to have with the nefarious mobster.

"Randall seems to owe Enrico Mazzino a significant amount of money, and has been paying him off a little at a time from moneys he'd proffered from his boss' petty cash. Not enough to tide the big time mobster over and there's been an investigation launched into his corrupt business practices. It seems he got himself into some really hot water and is looking for a way to save his skin."

"Too bad his family had to pay for his mistakes," JJ rejoined harshly.

She looked out of the windshield, garnering the resolve not to march into the house and put a fist through the man's face. She absentmindedly fingered her holstered weapon, debating whether or not to take it out and arrest the man without arranging for backup first. The rain was still coming down in sheets and she didn't relish leaving the warmth and security of her vehicle when the time came.

Her eyes narrowed as a dark shadow crossed her vision. It was hard to see through the pouring rain and she immediately dismissed the fleeting shadow as an animal seeking shelter in the storm.

"JJ," Garcia's voice came out concerned and edgy, "be careful. Enrico Mazzino's a dangerous man and, I…I just have a bad feeling about this."

The shadow passed across the Randalls' porch for an instant and JJ pulled her service pistol out. In one fluid motion, she slipped from the dry confines of the SUV's cab and made her way toward the house.

"Garcia, call for backup," she hurriedly shouted into the cell phone nestled between her shoulder and ear as she stealthily made her way to the house.

"What's going on?" Garcia clutched at the pen she had been twirling aimlessly in her hand and she nibbled nervously at her bottom lip as her colleague shouted over the line. Her heart raced as a gunshot rang out over the line followed by a distinct, deafening, CLICK, and then silence.

Blinking back tears, Garcia tapped in the number to Rubin County dispatch and called for the backup JJ had requested. She just hoped it wouldn't be too late. It seemed that all of her team members' lives lay in the balance and she was now the only member who had escaped harm on this morbidly twisted day.

The dirt of the Randalls' driveway had turned to mud, which slowed JJ's progress toward the home. The shadowed figure was hard to make out through the impeding rain, but to JJ it looked as though it had stepped onto the porch and was now perched in front of the large bay window to the left of the door. Now certain that it was neither a case of her eyes tricking her or a wayward animal seeking refuge from the rain, she crouched and made her way toward the front door, using the bushes flanking the driveway for coverage.

"Halt! FBI!" She shouted.

The figure paused on the front porch and a gunshot rang out as she stood and aimed at the rain-blurred shadow, displacing her cell phone in the process. It clattered, unheeded, to the muddy earth. JJ took cautious aim through the torrential rain and pulled the trigger. The report of her weapon sounded dull in her ears and she couldn't tell, through the heavy rain if she'd hit her mark or not.

The shady silhouette moved rapidly around to the other side of the house and into the woods. JJ, gun held before her, pursued as swiftly as the muddy earth would allow her to. She lost her target at the edge of the woods. Hair, wet and tangled, stuck to her face and she swiped it out of her eyes. Peering at the shadows within the densely packed woods, she strained her eyes in a fruitless effort to distinguish one ungainly shadow from the next.

Cursing loudly, she swept the area surrounding her for any signs of the individual she'd been pursuing. Her trained eyes summarily determining that she was completely alone at the edge of the wood bordering the Randalls' property, she turned back to the house and approached the front porch cautiously. Whoever had _visited _Steve Randall had not been here to make a sympathy call.

She scanned the front porch, and her eyes lit upon a spatter of fresh blood on the doorjamb. Apparently she'd managed to hit her quarry. She smiled sardonically and continued her meticulous survey of the, thankfully awning protected, front porch. She painstakingly made her way from the front door, stained with a smattering of blood from whomever she had shot, to the bay window which gave the Randalls a view of their front yard. A large portion of the glass was cracked and web like trails spread outward from what was unmistakably a bullet hole.

Peering cautiously through the fresh hole in the front window, JJ closed her eyes briefly in frustration when she recognized Steve Randall. He'd been sitting on a recliner in the front room when JJ'd left to call Hotch. Now, his prone body lay crumpled at the base of the chair.

Reaching into her jacket pocket for her cell phone, JJ raked her hand through her hair in irritation as she discovered that it wasn't there. She hoped that Garcia had called for backup and that officers were on their way as she entered the house to formally confirm Steve Randall's death. She would wait until the officers arrived to process the crime scene, but needed to ascertain that he was, indeed, dead.

She kept a vigilant eye on her surroundings. The shooter might not have been working alone and she was in a vulnerable position. She'd feel much less jumpy once the backup she'd asked for came. She just hoped that they'd be able to get there quickly and that the storm would not delay them.

Mud trailed her as she stepped into the home. She shook off the water which had managed to soak her even beneath her government issue FBI jacket and removed her muddy shoes at the entryway. Padding stocking footed into the living room, she knelt next to Steve Randall's prone form and felt for a pulse she knew from his ghostly white pallor would not be there.

Blood pooled from a neat, precise round wound to his forehead. His face was frozen in a mild look of surprised horror and his eyes open, stared up, unseeing, at the ceiling spattered with his blood and brain matter which had spread up and outward from the impact of the bullet. The recliner he'd been sitting in before he rose, presumably to escape his shooter, was splotched crimson with his blood as well.

Steve Randall was dead. Though JJ had little respect for the man, she grieved for the little boy who'd lost his entire family in a single day. Sighing heavily, she stood and paced back toward the front door, her blue eyes cautiously taking in her surroundings as she waited for backup to arrive.

Her mind wandered to the plight of the others on her team. Where were Rossi and Emily? Had they found Reid and Aiken yet? Were they safe? Had the man who'd brutally murdered Aiken's mom and brother succeeded in killing the little boy or had he already been captured?

There were too many questions without answers running through her mind. She shivered as her thoughts lingered on different scenarios, each more sinister than the last as she continued to dwell on something completely beyond her control.

Blue and red strobes of light cut across her line of vision and she shook her head to clear it. Backup had arrived. Plastering a dismal smile on her face, she welcomed the officers, gesturing toward where Steve Randall lay dead in the living room. As officers Burrows and Cooper helped her process the crime scene, she explained what had happened and her suspicions that, in spite of his best efforts to avoid repercussions for his illicit activities, Steve Randall had been killed by one of Enrico Mazzino's hit men.

For the most part they took it all in stride, Burrows mumbling angrily as JJ explained that Steve had hired someone to kill his family, Cooper shaking his head in sorrow when she asked if they'd heard any word from the search party. Photos were taken, fingerprints dusted for, a sample of the blood spatter which peppered the front door was taken, and a chalk-line was drawn. The house was now almost entirely cordoned off with crime scene tape.

"I don't suppose we need anyone to stay here now, least not after we get the body off to the morgue," Burrows scratched his head. "Doesn't sound like Aiken's bound to return here on his own."

"How long before the coroner can get here?" JJ looked at her watch. Only forty-five minutes had passed since she'd witnessed Steve get shot, yet it felt as if it had been several hours. She was exhausted, but knew that this day was far from over.

"With this weather?" Burrows played with the bridge of his hat. "Could be half an hour to two hours, could be longer, there's no telling. Coroner lives on the other side of town and with trees down and some parts of the road flooded, could take him some time to get here."

Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples.

"Either of you got a cell phone I can borrow?"

JJ smiled gratefully as Cooper handed her his phone. Rolling her shoulders to work out some of the kinks in her stiff muscles, she paced the small foyer as she waited for Garcia to pick up.

"Tell me this is good news," the computer genius' words came out as one jumbled mess, "and that I don't have another agent missing or injured or…"

"Garcia," JJ cut the worried tech expert off before she worked herself into a frenzy.

"Oh thank God!" Garcia fell back against her chair and let out the pent up air she'd been holding in since she'd heard the gunshot.

She'd tried JJ's cell after arranging backup and when the agent hadn't picked up, she'd called Hotch only to be told by a Doctor Fitzgerald that he was currently out of commission. After trying to reach Rossi, Emily, and Reid, though she knew it would be fruitless, she'd waited anxiously for a call from any one of them. She'd left messages for them all and had almost given up hope on having a single call returned.

"When this is over, we are never returning to Rubin County, Alabama to work a case ever again. Cell phone reception is almost non-existent and I don't like it when I can't reach you guys."

"I for one happen to agree with you." JJ rubbed the back of her stiff neck.

"Just tell me you weren't shot too," Garcia demanded.

"I wasn't shot," she consoled, "Steve Randall was."

"Did you catch whoever shot him?" Relief was evident in Garcia's voice.

"No, but I think I clipped him. He was quick, ran into the woods before I could catch him. Didn't even turn around to shoot at me. Could you look into Enrico Mazzino, see if he ordered a hit on Steve Randall?" JJ arched her back until it cracked.

"Sure thing," Garcia's fingers were already working to get the necessary information. "Just promise me one thing," her fingers paused above the keyboard.

"What's that?"

"That you'll stay safe. That you won't join one of the others who are missing or out of commission and that you will never, ever do anything like that to me again. I almost had a heart attack!" Garcia's voice escalated causing JJ to wince a little and hold the phone away from her ear.

"I promise," she chortled, rolling her eyes.

"Good, because I don't think I can handle losing another one of you to this freak storm or crazy, messed up case," Garcia spoke somberly.

"I hear you," JJ nodded.

She wouldn't be able to let go of the anxiety sitting in the pit of her stomach until she saw Hotch and Morgan with her own eyes and until they were reunited with Reid, Emily, and Rossi.

She just hoped to God they were all still alive and would remain that way, though her heart sunk with the knowledge that Reid had been taken by the man who'd killed Mrs. Randall and Braden. It reminded her too much of what had happened with Hankel and how they'd almost lost him then, how it'd been all her fault. She didn't know if he could survive going through something like that again.

"Keep me posted and I'll call you once I uncover the dirt on Enrico Mazzino." Garcia hated to hang up, hated to break the connection she had with the one team member left with whom she could communicate.

"Will do," JJ assured her before reluctantly cutting off their connection and handing the phone back to Cooper.

"If you want, Ma'am, we can wait here with the body until the coroner arrives," Cooper offered.

"No," though JJ wanted to do nothing more than go check on Hotch and Morgan, she wanted, no, needed to see this thing through as well. "I'll stay until the coroner arrives. I was the one who witnessed what happened and was the first on the crime scene."

"We'll stay with you then, Ma'am." Burrows bowed his head and leaned against the frame of the doorway leading to the living room.

"I thought you were short staffed with the storm." JJ looked from one officer to the other. Both had a look of resolve on their faces.

"No tellin' if the man who shot Steve Randall will be comin' back or not," Burrows stated plainly, "you called for backup, we're backin' you up. It'd be damned remiss of us to leave you out here alone with an armed man out in the woods, wounded or not." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"And you said he'd be here…" JJ trailed off.

"Anywhere between a half hour to two hours," Burrows supplied.

Cooper took up a position on one side of the large bay window, watching the edge of the woods where JJ indicated the shooter had disappeared. It was hard to see anything, even though the rain had started to let up, darkness was beginning to settle in, not even the light of the moon which was just beginning to rise gave much illumination. It was going to be a long night.

"You might want to make yourself comfortable," Burrows inclined his head, indicating a chair opposite Cooper's position. "We're in it for the long haul."

Nodding in acquiescence, JJ took up position opposite Cooper, watching for moving shadows at the edge of the woods.

The moon, a pale, otherworldly pearl crouched low in the clouds, readied herself for the weary night ahead. A mournful, piteous howl rent the still night air and JJ shuddered involuntarily as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and goose bumps rose on her arms. Looking over at Cooper, she gained some solace in the thought that at least she wouldn't be facing the night alone. She wondered where she would be when the sun rose the next morning. Where any of them would be after this hellish night.


End file.
